


#heart .saeyoung {border: 10px;}

by Blackprose



Series: # Heart Script [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: 707 Character Study, AU where the RFA doesn't exist, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Choi twins complicated relationship, Depression, Dry Humping, Falling In Love, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mint eye infiltration, Misunderstandings, Pining, Saeran recovery, emotional masturbation, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 87,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackprose/pseuds/Blackprose
Summary: Trying to escape his parents, Seven joins an information agency under the promise that his brother would be completely taken care of. Years later, an email from an old mentor brings him to a hospital where everything unravels.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s 4 A.M. The PC tower whirrs and buzzes and whines that annoying whine indicating it’s being pushed too hard. Seven eyes the side of the metal casing (metal, not plastic, better for heat redistribution, can’t have her overheating.) Technology oft just needs to be smacked up a bit to continue performing at max capacity. He hates manhandling his precious custom build, but water cooling was too risky to install on such an important model, so he opted for three overhauled fans and a heat sink. No way he’s about to use the shitty, entirely plastic fan that came with the CPU (Intel, not AMD, he’s no amateur.) Despite all his efforts to maintain his device, including regular cleaning to prevent dust buildup, the PC’s fans are constantly spinning, like it’s on the brink of unravelling. It feels like one screw can pop out of place and the entire thing would collapse like a poorly made model.

Loathe to even raise his hand to it, his beautiful custom build, he smacks the side of the casing with an open palm, rattling around the insides briefly; just enough to move the fan into place (he must’ve botched it with the thermal adhesive for it to be wobbling out of place this often, that’s what he gets for rushing to complete it.) It stops whirring.

Seven sighs, equal parts exasperation and relief that the high pitched cry has been silenced. He pushes up his glasses with his fingers and rubs the heel of his palm in his sore, sunken eyes. Just a little longer. Once this is over, he’ll gift himself a two week long vacation, and by vacation, he means sleep. He intends to be comatose once all this is over with. Why did he even take this contract to begin with?

Right. Agent 05. His recruiter. Every time they speak on the phone, he manages to convince Seven to take new, and slightly more risky jobs. Seven can’t argue with that voice though. It’s deep and unwaveringly confident, perfectly in line with the fleeting ideas Seven has of a father. There’s an understanding between them that (while agent work is dangerous), Agent 05 exists to keep both of the Choi boys safe, and he always will. It’s in both their best interest to take the high paying, slightly risky contracts because the money also benefits the unknown twin, the one out there with the better life than Seven. Seven comforts himself with the idea of that certain someone, the one who shares his appearance, living a happy and full life.

The higher the risk, the more people are willing to pay for their desires to be accomplished, whether that be simple invasion work or something more complicated, involving going into the field. Seven tries to avoid the work that takes him out of this apartment. He hasn’t had to move in two years, because he doesn’t have to go outside. The rent and bills are all paid under an unrelated alias, and his landlord seems to have decided that his tenant is a recluse. Seven doesn’t mind. All of this is for a reason, after all.

Agent 05 may be skimming his paychecks, but he also sifts through clients to ensure he has the jobs he prefers. That’s what  recruiters like him do, after all. It’s easier because Seven would rather not talk to anyone. He wants to receive the job (preferably over email,) begin, and then get paid. Bam. Done. No one to talk to.

_Ping._

Speaking of emails... Seven literally has to turn his head to check the bottom right monitor for the email announcement; and that isn’t because the screen is huge. It’s because he has six screens attached to his PC right now, to ensure he is re-checking and adjusting his parameters and information during this job. Crucial steps; easy to miss; that’s how it is when you deal in information. But this isn’t an update on the job or some praise or correspondence… it’s sent from an encrypted source and it’s-

Not worth his time to inspect right now. He has to finish the job.

***

7 A.M. is when he flops onto his bed; discarded chip bags crinkling, styrofoam containers bending and snapping under his weight. He throws an empty plastic bottle of Ph.D pepper across the room, hearing a toneless, empty twang as it hits his bedroom door. He probably shouldn’t be living like this, in a home underground with no windows and no possible way to discern when the sun rises and sets. It’s easier living with himself when the days blur together and time and date is only a number on the screen amidst a sea of others. Numbers were essential in math and computers, both of which are controllable, understandable, logical. It wasn’t this obfuscated entity like existence. If he had to define himself by the passing days, then he’d only remember everything he left behind, and Seven… can’t deal with that. Each day is a regret, but if he can make something good come of these earnings, then it’s all worth it.

It was easier if the days were unmarked by the shine of the sun. He was a cockroach, after all, scuttling about in the emptiness and profiting off of terrible people making even worse decisions, day after day. It was all for one reason, though: family. Agent 707 had no family, but… there existed a person out there, unattached to 707, or his other alias Luciel, who in every way deserved to go to college. He’d be a second year now, right? Probably. Seven would know if he spent more than two years in cram school as a teenager to obtain his advanced computer sciences degree; student by day and hacker by night. The double-edged life people romanticize in the movies he plays in the background of his work.

Why is everything cooler in movies? There’s nothing interesting about stealth missions or going undercover.

Okay, that’s a lie, but there’s definitely nothing fun about it when it all goes ass up and you’re sitting inside a broom closet for three days, with no food, very little water, and endless time to explore the labyrinth of your own thoughts. That’s when things start to get a little hazy.

Speaking of hazy - there’s something he forget to check on, wasn’t there? Face first in a pillow that is cool, yet slightly musty from sweat, Seven pulls his cellphone out of his jean pocket. He flicks on the screen, groans momentarily from the blinding light, and flips through his recent correspondence.

Ah, the encrypted email.

To:  Agent 707

From: ????

Subject: FWD: FWD: FWD: FWD: Great screensaver!

ITkh3Mtcii5lTmJEzixLKsIvqlgqYTEyrqNG+2hWUiuEY6je0tlrP7cGw9G3Q+zygpJXvcc6iE9IeutjpeRXBG1+aGHjXzSncz1GirUV4iExMyGGK/hbyway+IrT2JAmFkhOSFaN0Bsb+Z3guDG

This required a key. There’s no way it’s going to accept any of the skeleton keys he built on his phone just for sketchy pieces like this. Also, he should boot in safe mode when he opens it; just in case. Don’t want some malware disguised as business sneaking into his computer again.

No, sir; Seven’s the malware genius, and no one else. He’s not going to fall for the trick he practically invented when he discovered the big scandal at C&R’s rival company. What was that about again? Human trafficking? No… he remembers it being more ridiculous than that. It was something both sexy and ridiculous, but Seven would have thrown all his money at it given the chance to invest (under an alias, of course).

A line of lingerie for cats! Pfft. Seven can’t help the small chuckle that escapes his lips. It’s the first time he’s heard his own voice in several days. It sounds too much like the person dominating the headlines right now; an influential politician with too many skeletons in his closet. He’s so exhausted that it comes out as a crackly croak, and that’s when he knows that he’s not going to be deciphering this email. Not tonight (or, rather, this morning.) That can wait for when he wakes up.

The phone slips out of Seven’s hands, wrist gone limp as his entire body molds into the mattress. It’s a crappy mattress, really; lumpy and hard, but right now… God, is it heavenly. He’s created the perfect Seven shaped hole in it, and he sinks right in, swearing that it’s the most comfortable thing in existence.

***

When Seven finally awakes, he doesn’t bother checking the time. He measures his sleep in level of grogginess, and by the way his head is pounding and his body actively screaming for rest, he assumes it’s been about three hours. That’s enough. Has to be.

He stretches his arms above his head, and punches an empty pizza box. It rattles. Wait, empty pizza boxes don’t rattle. Seven lazily palms the box for the lid, then flips it up. Score, leftover pizza. He brings it to his mouth and chews absentmindedly, turning on his phone. He intended to enjoy some prime memes before starting work up again, but the screen opens up to the encrypted email.

Oh, yeah. He had to look at that. Bemoaning that deciphering this message meant getting out of bed, Seven attempted to use his skeleton keys on the email, just in case. They were futile, obviously. He’s never wrong when it comes to this.

Sighing, Seven sits up, brushing his hair back from his face. He should take Vanderwood up on their offer to buzz him. That’s how the cycle worked anyway; buzz head, let hair grow out until he can’t see properly, have that weird man bun stage, and then buzz again. That’s why good ol’ Vandy and Agent 05 have longer hair, too. In this line of work, one can’t be bothered with looking good, even though rugged good looks come naturally to God Seven.

There’s no one around to appreciate what a good offhand compliment that is. Seven works alone, loving the lone wolf aura in theory but absolutely hating it in practice. The only good thing about living in seclusion is that no one can force him to move when his cover’s been blown. His code is too good to crack and he never goes outside, so no one catches a glimpse of his face. Seven even leaves special instructions for delivery drivers just to leave the food at the door while he leaves a generous tip and incentive to leave him the hell alone. Obeying any type of order, even a simple food delivery request, becomes more attractive when there’s proper incentive. If Seven understands anything about humanity, it’s the drive for money. Money pays him to perform these deeds, and it pays delivery drivers to take the double payment to leave the food on the ground.

When he first started this work, he got to do most of his stuff with Agent 05. It was a lot more interesting and a million times less lonely that way.

Agent 05 was a little odd himself. He was around a lot in the beginning, teaching Seven the ways of agent life, getting him accustomed to taking jobs, how to talk to “patrons” (that’s what they called their contractors, better than calling them scum,) and how to infiltrate. He had specific training, obviously; what secret agent doesn’t get cool training? But his unsurpassed talent for hacking meant he didn’t need to undergo as intensive training as other people; he got to skip most of the socializing aspects, too, so he’s a quirky hacker with little to no social skills, who craves social interaction like a lovebird, always feeling a little more empty than most people without his other half.

Lovebirds die if they don’t have their partner. Does that  mean the reason Seven’s been feeling so empty is because death found its home inside of him? For him, his other half would probably always be his brother… but not in the romantic sense. There was a solidarity shared between them that he doubted could be mimicked by a girl… or a guy… or anyone, really.

This train of thought is getting him nowhere. He hasn’t seen Agent 05 in months. The last time he glimpsed his presence on the net was brief, a small SOS, but Seven couldn’t trace the coordinates. It’s been almost a year since that SOS, and since then it’s been radio silence. Shortly after, Seven was assigned Vanderwood as his supervisor, choosing his contracts and schmoozing with dirty people to coax them into paying more. Whether or not Seven wanted to acknowledge it, Agent 05 was probably dead.

That stung… considering all the man ever did for Seven, Agent 05 was like a father figure to him, when his own father was too busy trying to erase the existence of his illegitimate twin sons, like one does chalk on a board. A swift erase and nothing left but a smudge to mourn their existence.

Seven would be damned if he let that happen, so he started taking control of his own life at a young age; sneaking off to church, meeting new people, learning all kinds of abstract materials from books, borrowing the blonde woman’s laptop to practice while he hid underneath the pew and said his “our father”s in chorus with the droning masses.

If there’s one thing Seven misses, alongside but never rivaling his yearning to see his brother again, it was church. He had never been somewhere so peaceful and accepting.  Everyone there was an adult, but no one there looked at him like he was anything less than human. It felt miraculous to go inside and simply talk to the Priest, the first adult to ever smile at him. That made Seven cry, made the boy who he used to be before he became Seven believe in a life better than the one he had. Seven wishes he could have saved that Priest from the horrible fate that befell him, the fate of knowing Agent 707.

Seven slams the palm of his hand on his forehead, forcibly removing any painful thoughts from his mind. None of that meaningless discourse is important now. He brushes his fingers, coated with cornmeal and flour from the bottom of the pizza, on his shirt and relocates from the bed to his swivel chair.

His bed may be a piece of crap, but his chair is amazing. High tech stretchy vinyl, ports in the seats, some sexy lighting (because if his tower can’t have it, his chair will, dammit) and a killer recline function. Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he bothers with a bed when he has this fine chair.

Seven looks at the processes rendering on his PC; there’s no way he can turn all these off to boot in safe mode, so, he ponders over what to do, considering waiting to open this risky email until after he’s done his contract; but then he remembers that he installed a backup OS on a partitioned drive on the PC. He can just use that.

Seven boots up his second OS, in safe mode. No regrets installing it on his SSD, this baby boots in no time. It takes less than a few minutes for Seven to open his email client, apply the decryption wizard he programmed just for tricky keys like this. and sit back. Maybe he should check on the other processes…

Naw.

Seven sits up from his chair, and decides to go take a nice, long shower. He sets his glasses on the sink outside. The entire world is kind of fuzzy without them on. He technically only needs them for reading screens, but he wears them all the time; he’s rarely ever looking away from a screen anyway.

It’s a bad sign for an agent to need glasses, anyway; sooner or later, they’ll force corrective surgery on him. They’ve probably only relented so long because he’s such a useful asset; if he were a chess piece, he’d probably be a bishop, always sidelining danger and narrowly avoiding it with style.

He only uses standard issue shampoo with no scent and a bar of soap. Ever since he moved out to this city though, no one has held his shower times to regulated standards (10 minutes,) so he takes his time, letting the hot water melt away stress and muscle tension. He throws one arm out, leans against it, and lets it hold him upright lest he fall asleep underneath the warm water pattering against his back. If he could just melt into one feeling for the rest of his life, this would be it. Problems don’t exist in the shower; it gives him time to think of a million new good memes for the folks online (his only form of social interaction most days is posting memes on Tripter,) gives him time to fantasize about a better life, gives him time to escape his own head and gives him time to…

A body has needs. Seven never considered himself attractive. He made jokes, sure. He isn’t bad looking, per se, but he never saw anyone worthy of love when he looked in the mirror. Likewise, he never saw anything desirable in people he slept with before, either. He saw bodies, he felt stimulation, he got hard, and then he got off. It was almost mechanical at times.

And the rare times he wanted to indulge in his own body, he thinks of scenarios only possible in an alternate universe: having someone he trusted utterly and completely, holding them at night, resting his head on their lap as they tease their fingers through his hair and whisper that he’s more than just a useless piece of shit. He fantasizes about having a better life than this, about getting married or having a partner or having a family he can call his own someday.

He bites his lip, not bothering to stifle the small whimpers escaping his lips. He cannot even identify if they are the result of his tears or his pleasure, as he frantically pumps his fist up and down his cock. He tastes blood in his mouth, licks his lips, and tastes iron diluted by hot water.

It’s a weird thing to get off to, but people use fantasies to cum, right?  Well, this is Agent 707’s fantasy: that he’s lovable, that he isn’t fucked up, and that he can trust someone completely, without them believing in his happy-go-lucky persona.

When he cums, it’s unsatisfying and he keeps his eyes closed, heaving and panting and failing to catch his breath as he feels stifled by the heat. This is what happens when Seven taps into the parts of his soul that have gone putrid, like water pooling and becoming rancid. Or maybe it wasn’t the heat, maybe it was the fetid water leaking out of the pools in his soul and into his physicality, where it poisoned his thoughts, turned his stomach to acid, and made masturbation feel immoral.

***

When Seven gets back to his PC, he sees that the wizard has found a matching key. Nice, nice, nice. He has no regrets building this one. It’s been useful on more than one occasion... and seriously, how cool is it saying that he built a wizard? A wizard? Sounds awesome.

Seven’s aware that he’s projecting his hyper mania. It always comes out when things get a little harder than normal. Right now, everything feels hard, no pun intended.There’s nothing difficult about a curious email, yet the minute he sees the sender's real name and email address, his blood runs cold.

To: Agent 707

From: Agent 05

Subject: FWD: FWD: FWD: FWD: Great screensaver!

SKY University Hospital. Third floor.

I’ve taken the steps to ensure he isn’t responsible.

-V


	2. Chapter 2

“What’s your favourite colour?” 

“Green!” 

This is how most conversations went with ten year old Saeyoung. Everyone was so eager to hear his favourite colour, or hear about his favourite things, beginning with his favourite dinosaur and ending with his favourite car. He was willing to oblige them, too, of course; what kid wouldn’t want to talk about themselves endlessly? Saeyoung told all the regular churchgoers, especially the older women, who looked at him whimsically, as if he was infinitely entertaining. A lot of adults looked at him like that when he got bubbly or excitable. 

Church wasn’t about God, though; not to Saeyoung. It was about togetherness and acceptance. The church was the only type of family he had. He started going when he was ten, on his way home from his mother’s various errands, just to listen to the Priest’s words. If he timed his excursions right, she wouldn’t question why he was gone for an additional twenty minutes. If she was drunk enough, he could leave for over an hour without detection. The Priest always knew the right thing to say, whether that be in the form of a bible verse or sage-like wisdom said so succinctly and constructed so poetically that Saeyoung was sure no one else in the world was as smart.

Due to the Priests influence on him, Saeyoung learned to enjoy himself a little bit, to carve out his personality in the form of likes and dislikes, notebooks and stickers. That was how little Saeyoung became quite the conversationalist. Outside of the church, he was stoic and silent, understanding that good boys are spoken to without speaking, lest said good boy receives another bruise. However, inside the church was a different story. No one had ever told him explicitly that those who come to church were good, but Saeyoung knew they were. The outside world was scary and the adults were unpredictable, but the minute they crossed the threshold into God’s house, they became trustworthy to Saeyoung.

God wouldn’t let anyone into his home that didn’t deserve to be there. The teachings said that only good people thoroughly repented. How can anyone who attends church be bad? How can anyone pray to God and then leave and begin sinning again, seconds after being cleansed? Saeyoung clung to the idea of God and deliverance. It sparked the hope that Saeran and him would be able to escape some day, because the world wasn’t as scary as their mom said it was; not if places like church exist.  

Little did he know, not all who entered God’s home were trustworthy. 

If someone asked Saeyoung his favourite colour months before attending church, he would have struggled to answer. He had never considered things like favourite colours before, when daily life was accompanied by a slowly filling balloon of dread and doom, understanding that every time he exhaled a little too loudly, or his brother’s whimpers rose in pitch, that the balloon could pop at any moment. That their mother could storm into the room to pull one or both of them out by the ankles, drag them into the kitchen and punish them for being bad boys. It was stress inducing. It made the boys sick more than once.

Missing meals was a common occurrence in their household. When they finally did have food, they either got sick from the anxiety of sneaking behind her back, of knowing what their mother would do to them if she found out, or they would binge, only to vomit it up less than twenty minutes later. It was impossible to deny that they had eaten when that happened. 

From the influence of church and interacting with others, Saeyoung learned there was a chance for a better life. Saeran didn’t. Saeran didn’t interact with other people, and he didn’t go to church with his brother. They didn’t grow together. When Saeyoung suggested escaping, Saeran supported it until it came time to actually leave, and then he would tremble and cry because he was more scared of the world than he was of their mother.

Saeyoung started bringing home only small amounts of food from the church, even if he was given more, since he knew that Saeran would only make himself sick by eating too quickly. He didn’t want to starve Saeran but he also didn’t want to risk Saeran vomiting up the food, because he was already so thin and sickly. If their mother wouldn’t take care of them, then it was Saeyoung’s duty to pick up where she failed. 

The first time someone had asked his favourite colour, Saeyoung just stared at them, wide eyes full of youthful innocence. Then he looked around in confusion at the people walking by to their pews, not noticing him. He looked for an excuse, anything to not have to answer this adult, so they didn’t have to find out what a pathetic disappointment he was. He didn’t know the answer. Just like when his Mom asked him why he was such a bad boy, why he provoked her; he didn’t know the answer then, and he absolutely doesn’t know the answer to his favourite colour. Except, no adults paid attention to him as he looked around frantically for something to grasp onto. He had no choice. His eyes welled up without his permission, until the Priest was just a blurry streak of colours. 

Saeyoung choked out between tears that he didn’t know the answer, that he was sorry, that he had never been asked that before, and that next time... next time he’d be better. He’d fix everything. 

When the Priest frowned at him, Saeyoung cried a little harder, covering his mouth and nose with both his hands to muffle the sounds. He saw the Priest reach for him, and Saeyoung instinctively shut his eyes, squeezing them hard. It was coming. He knew it. He braced himself for impact, for impossibly big hands to shove him down and tell him he was worthless. 

But that didn’t happen… instead, the Priest patted his head, fluffed up his mangy red hair and told him to take his time, that favourite colours didn’t get chosen overnight and to think really hard. 

That night, Saeyoung went home and recounted the day's events to Saeran. 

“What’s your favourite colour, Saeran?” Saeyoung asked him, the two boys huddled together under a spaceship print cotton blanket. Saeran fiddled with the corner of the blanket where the thick threads had frayed and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Dunno,” Saeran responded quickly, caught off guard and fearful. “What’s yours?” He had a look of helplessness, like he didn’t know why Saeyoung would ask the clear impossible of him. He looked to Saeyoung for reassurance and maybe for an answer to what their favourite colour should be.

Saeran always elicited a certain reaction in Saeyoung, something deep and almost maternal inside his chest, the need to shield and protect Saeran with everything in his being; like he was the Knight and Saeran was the Princess in need of protection, and their mother was the evil dragon. 

Saeyoung reached out for his brother’s hair and tried to fluff it up, tried to pick out the dried, crusted blood at the base of his neck. Saeran winced and placed his hand tentatively on Saeyoung’s arm, tugging him and discouraging him from pulling at the sensitive hairs along the base of his neck. He didn’t protest verbally, though. Both of them have gotten past the point of requesting to not be hurt. It never worked anyway. 

They share a look between them. Saeyoung dropped his arm and pressed the sides of their heads together, throwing one arm around his brother’s shoulder. 

“We both have red hair… how about red?” Saeran offers after a long drawn out silence. Saeyoung wants to agree. Their hair is a pretty colour. Everyone at the church has told him so. Their hair and eyes are unique, but also similar, almost strikingly so, to someone they think they’ve seen before. When adults got that contemplative look, like they’re dissecting you with their eyes, Saeyoung started to squirm. He couldn’t take that look. If they think hard enough, they’ll definitely connect him to their father, a prominent politician. Saeyoung couldn’t risk that, so he’d promptly change the subject; offering irrelevant information about himself, like the flowers he found on the way to church and the bugs he picked at. 

Saeran started picking at the back of his neck, wincing as he peeled off dried blood and scabs. Saeyoung stilled his hand, much like Saeran had done earlier. He clenched his jaw and forcibly stopped his lips from trembling. Saeran couldn’t see him cry. Saeyoung has to be the strong one.

“I hate red,” Saeyoung spits venomously, forcibly enough that Saeran shrinks away and Saeyoung needs to soothe him to come closer. Saeyoung meant it when he said he hated the colour red, though. He wished he never had to see that colour again, especially not on Saeran. 

It isn’t until the next day at church, when he made his daily rounds to say hello to all the church patrons, did he meet a couple with the kindest eyes. They talked to him until mass began, they conversed with him for so long that Saeyoung forgot to say hello the regulars  who walked in after. Saeyoung sat next to her during the mass, the girl with the long blonde hair and the kind green eyes; the one who smelled like lilacs; the one in the pretty dress. Saeyoung made the decision then, completely enamoured by the woman who he knew in his heart was trustworthy, that his favourite colour would always be green.

After mass, she introduced herself as Rika and her companion, an unbelievably tall man that made Saeyoung say ‘woah’ when he stood beside him, as Jihyun. 

*** 

Seven stares dumbfounded at the screen. No, no, no, no, no. This has to be a joke. There’s no way… Seven was fairly sure he had died. He didn’t just assume that, either. Seven had been monitoring his activity since that SOS, looking desperately for another blip on the radar. He wouldn’t miss the SOS next time. Seven promised to himself to work harder, so he isn’t a disappointment to Agent 05 - no, V. So he wasn’t a disappointment to V. 

Before he knows it, Seven’s gotten to his feet, chair tipped behind him and resting on the edge of the mattress. His bedroom is not very big, probably the smallest room in the entire apartment. He chose it for that purpose; the tightness of the space made him feel secure. 

Seven rights his toppled chair and sits back down, forcing himself to remember his agent training, regulating his breathing to stay calm in stressful situations. He rereads the messages, over and over. He checks the sender information. It’s Agent 05’s official email, the one assigned by the agency. He tries to send a message back asking for clarification, encrypting it first, yet purposefully neglecting to send the key because he believed in his mentor’s skills. 

That wasn’t necessary, apparently, because the email bounced back as undeliverable. Seven sends more messages, numerous ones. Each one bounces back with an insufferable  _ ping.  _

Since this clearly isn’t working, Seven decides to learn everything he possibly can about SKY University Hospital. Even information he doesn’t need to know, like their government funding and their management to front line staff ratio. He cannot go into something unprepared for what he will find. 

He avoids looking up what care is provided on the third floor until he knows for sure he understands everything about SKY University Hospital. Seven even considers hacking into some employee emails to find out something, grasping for anything that allows him to believe he somehow has control over this situation and he wasn’t just beckoned to the outside world by his presumed dead mentor. 

Finally, Seven looks into the inpatient units by department. Before he can look into what’s treated on the third floor, he loses his courage and drops his head into his hands, rubbing at his tired eyes and allowing his mind a brief rest.

He doesn’t know what to expect at the hospital. Has his mentor called him to let him know he was on his deathbed? Has some sickness caught up with him? Seven doesn’t remember V being sick at all when they were together, but that was over a year ago, and… Seven’s worked in the information business long enough to know that such precarious employment means nothing is guaranteed. Perhaps his sickness was induced by beatings. or injected into him by some particularly nasty client. 

Okay, okay. Seven’s imagination is getting ahead of him. He stumbles down the hallway, his legs unaccustomed to the speed he’s forcing them to move at. He slips on one shoe, trips over his own clumsy feet and uses the wall for balance. Then forces on his other shoe. Before he opens the door, he stares curiously at a pair of glasses he left hanging by his car keys; striped orange and black glasses, an essential component to his 707 persona. Seven switches his plain black glasses for these extravagant ones. He opens the closet, pulls out a sweater with matching colours, and zips it all the way to the neck. Just one more layer between the world and his true self.

Seven tries to ignore the way his fingers shake when he turns the doorknob. He’s terrified of leaving the house. He hasn’t left this underground apartment since he moved here two years ago. 

When he opens his apartment door, the first thing Seven notices is how much fresher the air smells. He forgot how the afternoon sun felt on his face, how it burned his eyes and warmed his hair so it felt like freshly dried laundry. He missed the way his car smelled, the one piece of his identity he was able to keep when he stopped being Saeyoung. He owned four cars, but he switched them out every few months and transferred the others to storage. Cars this extravagant would only catch attention, and he was going for the literal opposite here. 

On the drive, Seven takes time to appreciate the rev of the engine, the warmth of the heated leather seats. He tries to appreciate the sound quality of his stereo, and the smooth way the car turns corners. It’s an amazing car, obviously. 707 would never get anything less.

Seven’s grasping for anything to avoid acknowledging the way his fingers ache from his vice-like grip on the steering wheel. 

***

Rika was always so kind to little Saeyoung. Saeyoung remembers the time she snuck him cookies at the church bake sale. She had deposited them in his outstretched hands, giggling as Saeyoung stared in awe at the flashy plastic wrap. Never had he seen something so beautifully humble. The cookies inside had been lumpy and misshapen; when he ate them hours later with Saeran, he remembers the middle was too soft, indicating that they were probably undercooked. None of that mattered, though; she had brought cookies to the bake sale and snuck him a package when she’d learned he didn’t have the money to buy one for himself. 

The look in her green eyes had made Saeyoung’s heart swell. She didn’t pity him; she had looked genuinely concerned that she couldn’t help him. She was practically a stranger, but she had gone out of her way to eye the room, waiting for the bake sale patrons to disappear before she ushered him quickly under the table, kneeled down, lifted up the tablecloth and asked him to hold out his hands.

Saeyoung stared down at the package in his hand, confounded that she had given him a present that he had no means to repay. Rika frowned at his reaction and urged him to eat the cookies, saying that she wouldn’t tell anyone if he wouldn’t. He gulped, licked his lips, and shook his head. He couldn’t until he got home, so he could share them with Saeran.

Saeyoung never spoke about his home life. He’d often wear button up t-shirts that covered his neck and sleeves that hung past his wrists, just to hide the hand shaped marks on his body. Saeyoung wanted to think he was being discreet, that no one knew he had marks underneath his clothes, but the reluctant way he let Rika and Jihyun hug him was probably indication enough. 

Saeyoung couldn’t forget the way he outright screamed when Jihyun tried to lift him once. It was probably all the information they needed to puzzle out his home life. That day, they learned another bit of information, woven into the sparse bits of information he had given them in the past: he had a brother. 

Shortly after discovering this information, Rika frowned. Saeyoung didn’t like the way the frown made her lips pout, made those green eyes turn cold and unforgiving. She stood up promptly and gestured to Jihyun, who somehow saw her from across the room because he excused himself from the discussion he was having with regular churchgoers, and strode over to her, camera at the ready to capture her facial expressions. She swatted the camera away, reprimanding him for taking a photograph when she had something serious to discuss, and leaned in close enough that Saeyoung couldn't hear from underneath the table. He let the swath of cloth fall back down, covering him and effectively blocking out the world. He didn’t want to see that frown on Jihyun’s face, either. Saeyoung didn’t want to see how disappointed he made them both until he saw shoes facing the table, saw knees as Jihyun bent over, then saw unbelievably kind mint eyes as he lifted the tablecloth and beckoned Saeyoung out. They didn’t look cold or gated like Rika’s did.

Jihyun offered to take him outside and show him how his camera worked. Relieved that they didn’t want to have some lengthy conversation regarding his home life, Saeyoung accepted. That was the day that Saeyoung learned how to use a professional grade camera. Jihyun looked relaxed as he strode with Saeyoung in tow, letting him handle the camera (which was far too expensive for a child, in retrospect,) as Saeyoung bounced around on the balls of his feet and took images of everything from the cracked sidewalk to his own gap-toothed smile, the camera shaking slightly and blurring the edges around him. 

Jihyun said it was his favourite picture of the day; the one where Saeyoung’s open mouthed, over enthusiastic smile was the only in-focus element out of the entire shot, amber eyes lit up by the sun shining directly on his face. 

That afternoon, an hour after the church bake sale had ended, Saeyoung hugged both Jihyun and Rika without fear. Their hands felt different than his mother’s. They were tentative, gentle and warm over his shirt. It made his heart pound in his chest, because a small part of him anticipated their inevitable betrayal; when they would decide that hugging him was too vile of an act and they had to cleanse themselves by jerking away, like he was venomous. He had nightmares about the hug ending in just that way. 

But… it didn’t end that way. They pulled away, her hand on his back between his shoulder blades and his hand ruffling up his unruly curls. Saeyoung sighed, all of his bad thoughts cascading out of him, and onto the pavement where they stood. 

Rika and Jihyun wouldn’t hurt him. He could trust them. 

It wasn't long after that they suggested Saeyoung escape his mother with their help; that there exists certain work even someone his age could do for money, if he was a quick learner. 

***

When Seven steps into the hospital, he beelines for the face masks. They’re intended to prevent the spread of illnesses, of course, but that was not Seven’s intention. He flips up the hood of his sweater, pulling off his headphones so they rest comfortably around his neck, music still audible as he neglects to pause it. It’s strangely grounding and bordering on soothing. He hides his face, his freckles, and his hair. 

Perhaps this effort is only drawing more attention to him. Seven finds he doesn’t care, though, because being hidden from view is preferable. He waits for the elevator with a stranger, a person who paces back and forth, twisting his fingers and cracking his knuckles, then wincing in pain as if this is something he hasn’t done before. Seven watches the blonde boy blow his bangs out of his face with a puff of air then grumble about forgetting to pin them back. When the elevator dings and opens, he watches the boy scramble in frantically, mashing the close door button before he notices Seven’s existence, then sheepishly stands in the furthest corner from the buttons.

The blonde’s mannerisms are intriguing, if only to distract from his own inner anxieties. It was almost cathartic watching someone else panic instead of him. Seven presses the button for the third floor, slumps against the wall, and thumbs through his phone until the elevator dings. The blonde dashes out of the doors, angling his body sideways to slip through before they open completely, and rushes down the hall. Seven takes his time to locate the unit he’s looking for. When he does, he walks straight to the nurse’s station; maybe they knew some reason why he was called.

Seven’s perplexed and mildly surprised that he spots the blonde boy again, arguing with the nurse.

“But I’m her family!” he protests, his voice meek and squeaky. His chest is heaving; he’s probably still out of breath from sprinting down the hall.

“I’m sorry, Mr…” The nurse looks at his ID, then slides it back under the glass partition. “Kim. We aren’t allowing anyone in who isn’t on the approved list.”

“That shouldn’t matter!” He shoves his ID back under the small opening in the glass separating him from the nurses. For a small guy, he seems pretty determined. Seven can respect that.

“It does matter. If you’d like, I can take your information and call you once the investigation is over, but until then, you can’t see any of the patients.” The nurse hands the ID back. 

Seven coughs, and the stranger blocking the nurse’s station flinches like he’s been outright hit. He looks over, shame on his face, cheeks bright red and defiance in his eyes as he takes his ID wordlessly. He doesn’t leave though, he hovers around Seven as he pulls out the ID with his alias, Luciel Choi, and hands it to the nurse.

“Luciel Choi…” the nurse repeats, like his name means something. He doesn’t like the way she says his name. It’s obvious this eavesdropper picked up on it, too, because he starts edging a little closer, attempting unsuccessfully to listen undetected. Civilians have no idea what subtlety is, Seven thinks as he promptly returns his ID to his wallet once she hands it back.

“The police want to see you,” the nurse finally says.  

“Why?” Seven reacts defensively, his heartbeat accelerating from baseline to heart attack range within seconds. He really shouldn’t be involving himself with any type of law enforcement, considering his line of work. He has half a mind to sprint away now, except that would undoubtedly make him appear guilty of whatever he’s being accused of. Instead, he tries to remember the conversationalist training he was given; dammit, why did he skip most of those classes? Dammit, why did they let his lazy ass skip those classes?

“I don’t know. Go inside and ask them,” the nurse responds, pointing to the heavy double doors. Seven brushes past the blonde stranger, catching the look of rage on his face. Once again, Seven is impressed by his determination. He’s confused what this person’s connection is to this is, and who exactly he is here to see. He said she was his family? Seven only has moments to consider who exactly ‘she’ could be when he hears the door lock click open as he approaches. He pushes his way inside. 

Green is his favourite colour. That hasn’t changed since he was a child. However, coming face to face with the green of his memories on a woman long gone from his life, her eyes wide with mania and accompanied by a painted on grin that spears his heart with icicles, he reconsiders why he ever thought green was a nice colour to begin with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First meeting's are always rocky. ;)
> 
> Thanks for the comments & the love on the first chapter, guys. I love them and they truly do inspire me to continue writing my best :) 
> 
> The title for this fic was suggested by my friend Hayley; it's code and literally means there's a wall around Saeyoung's heart. I thought it was fitting.


	3. Chapter 3

The hospital chapel is small. It barely has two rows of seats. There are no windows or stained glass art like the one Seven attended when he was growing up. It still smelled like a hospital; too sterile, too dry, everything miraculously dust free, as if the air was so clean it couldn’t produce anything dirty or blemished.

The chapel must have been non-denominational, as well, because instead of a crucifix, there sat one lone cross, dipped in gold and sparkling from the overhead lighting. There was no door at the entrance, allowing anyone to enter (for ‘solace,’ Saeyoung assumes,) but it never truly felt like he wasn’t somewhere he absolutely didn’t want to be. He couldn’t forget he was at the hospital; he couldn’t forget the manic look in Rika’s eyes, mirrored only minutes later when he was reunited with his sibling. What happened? Where did things go so awry? What did V’s email mean?

Seven pulls out his phone and rereads the email.

To: Agent 707

From: Agent 05

Subject: FWD: FWD: FWD: FWD: Great screensaver!

SKY University Hospital. Third floor.

I’ve taken the steps to ensure he isn’t responsible.

-V

Does that mean Saeran was responsible for something and V was only covering it up? Has he taken the steps to ensure Rika is also not guilty? Is Rika guilty? Oh god, is Saeran guilty? Saeran looked so scarred and bruised when Seven saw him… he has no idea what that means. Is Saeran dangerous? The police wouldn’t answer any of his questions; they only demanded that he answer theirs, that he look at the head shots of some of the cult members (they didn’t even explain what the cult was, just that one existed and, apparently, Rika and Saeran were both involved,) and identify if he knew any of them. He didn’t know any besides Rika and Saeran, of course. He continued to tell them as they cycled through picture after picture until… fuck.

The priest? The one Seven knew growing up? Seven identified him, but only by his face. He didn’t know his name, had only referred to him as Father, as one did for a priest. He didn’t know his name. He only knew what church he used to serve and that was… it was at least twelve years ago. Priests change churches regularly. That wasn’t important, though... What was important was that Seven had believed this man had died because of involvement with him. And now, it was clear that was untrue..

Seven’s head is spinning. He can’t understand anything that’s been going on, and none of his persistent emails to V have been sending. He tried to stay longer with Saeran, tried to initiate a conversation with Rika, yet the police had ushered him out of the unit as soon as he finished answering their questions.

Seven hasn’t seen his brother in over ten years, and the only thing he was able to do when he first saw him was stare, absolutely speechless, as Saeran screamed profanities at him. Saeran seemed to remember him, at least, but the way he said “you traitorous piece of shit, I hope you rot in hell,” wasn’t comforting in the slightest and seemed completely out of character for the shy boy he remembered Saeran being.

When had things changed so much?

Seven discovered the hospital’s chapel when the nurse caught him praying in the waiting room, clutching the silver cross hung around his neck between the palms of hands until the chill of metal softened and warmed from his touch. He prayed out loud, having never learned to pray in his head, never bothering to care because he was usually alone when he prayed, anyways.

Being a public place, staff escorted him to the chapel, where he could express his religious affinity in the designated space. Seven had half a mind to be offended that he couldn’t profess his love for God wherever he damn well pleased, but… he was smart enough to bite his tongue. They had Saeran in that unit, behind those locked double doors, and Seven wasn’t about to commit espionage to talk to a person who he had no doubts would scream and announce his presence, effectively ruining any chance for him to see his brother again. No, Seven’s going to play along so he can see Saeran again.

“Didn’t think you were the religious type.” A kind voice from the entranceway snaps Seven out of his thoughts. He wasn’t even actively praying anymore; he was just staring down at his phone, eyes re-reading V’s email until it had lost all meaning, and one hand desperately holding onto the cross around his neck.

“Huh? Think this cross is just for show?” Seven waves the string the necklace is tied to, swinging the cross left and right. He’s responded before he realizes it’s the blonde kid from earlier.

“Guess not… Luciel, right?” the boy takes a seat in the same row as him, leaving one chair between them for space. Seven pockets his phone, lest any information get leaked. He has no idea who this stranger is, after all, and considering the day’s events, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was from some rival agency.

“That’s what they call me,” Seven replies, trying to conjure up some lightheartedness from his 707 persona, but finds the delivery falls flat.

“Did the police question you?” No nonsense, right to the chase. Despite feeling overwhelmed by the way world saw fit to turn his life upside down and shake hard enough all his deepest secrets spilled out onto the floor, Seven is, once again, mildly impressed by this kid.

“You don’t have a name? Should I just call you Unknown?”  Seven deflects. He’s not about to spill unecessary information to someone he just met.

“What? Oh. Right,” the blonde scratches his cheek sheepishly. “Yoosung.”

“Well, Yoosung, _you_ need to get better at eavesdropping. You were so obvious earlier.”

“Oh… yeah, sorry. I guess sneak skills in games don’t apply to real life,” then the shakes his head, like he isn’t sure what the hell he’s saying. That’s when Seven notices how puffy Yoosung’s face is, how red rimmed his eyes are.

“Who’s your family?” Seven asks. Yoosung had said that earlier, and Seven still had no idea what he meant.

'What?”

“At the entrance earlier, you said she was your family.”

“Oh… you heard that?”

“You were kind of shouting.”

Yoosung pauses, sucks in a deep breath, and sighs loudly. He bites his lower lip to stop it from trembling.

“My cousin… I got a phone call from her fiancé that she was going to be at this hospital. It’s right on campus, so I ditched my afternoon class to come and…” Yoosung slumps forward, hanging his head and making no movements to straighten his hunched posture. “I just waited out here like an idiot. They wouldn’t let me in.”

His cousin. That makes more sense that Yoosung would say that she was family.

“I have family in there, too,” Seven blurts. He reprimands himself mentally afterwards. No one even knows he has family, and here he is, telling a complete stranger with bloodshot eyes - eyes that, despite the redness, still looked compassionate.

“Yeah?” Yoosung perks up for a second. His lips come together like he’s about to ask who his family is, but then his eyes darken and he visibly slumps in his seat. “I can’t believe she’s here. I thought she was dead.”

Thankful, and somewhat gracious that Yoosung changed the subject, Seven asks.

“Why?”

Yoosung looks like he’s about to cry again, he shakes his wrists until his sweater sleeve covers them, and then he presses the fabric into his eyes.

“V… he told us all that she… that she committed suicide. I even went to her f-funeral.”

The mention of V makes Seven’s blood turn to ice and sludge, bone chilling and viscous, like his entire body’s been set in slow-motion mode. It’s less fun in real life than it is in a video game, Seven learns. He sucks in a ragged breath, and cleans out one ear, as if that was the reason he clearly heard something wrong.

“W-what?” he stammers.

“Awful, right? I never saw her - the casket was closed - and I thought things sounded messed up, but _I_ couldn’t get V to tell me anything.” Yoosung looks up from underneath his sweater covered face, long lashes wet with tears. Seven’s fairly sure they’re both going to have killer headaches tomorrow, and for completely different reasons. Seven’s been in a shitty business long enough that tears just don’t come anymore. He cried after his first few assignments, after he saw the aftermath of his work on the national news, after he hacked into police databases to see the crime scene photographs of the people he knowingly put into danger. V had asked him why he even bothered, why he didn’t just take the money and turn a blind eye. Seven had no response, so V filled the blanks for him.

“I’m like you, too,” V told young Saeyoung. “We carry the burdens of our work, Luciel.”

Saeyoung only nodded solemnly, eyes glued to the screen as he looked at a corpse, mangled beyond recognition, and read the list of bodily harm and the suspected cause of death; bludgeoning, and vehicular manslaughter. Saeyoung sat in mute horror at what he’d done. What he’d done over and over again; different names, different people, different circumstances, but none of them less vile than the last, and with each act, Saeyoung’s soul turned a little darker, one more drop of black.

But Seven never stopped looking. It was the only type of atonement he could muster. If there was a God, if he was watching - hopefully he could see into Seven’s soul and cleanse him when his time for judgement came. Hopefully God understands that sometimes bad people are born of worse situations. Seven wonders if logic works on God or if he’s already doomed for hell.

“Luciel?” Yoosung’s voice is filled with trepidation.

“D-don’t call me that,” Seven responds quickly, harshly even. Yoosung’s eyes widen for a second, then his eyes darken and he nods, pursing his lips. Seven isn’t social. Never was and probably never will be. There’s something about social interactions that makes him want to hide behind a mask. That was the point of his current outfit, wasn’t it? This sweater and these striped glasses. They were all just part of the 707 persona and he hasn’t even been properly broadcasting it.

Yoosung seems to have interpreted Seven’s repugnance at being called Luciel as too familiar, considering they really were just strangers. Seven assumes the dark look in those purple eyes is related to that, as well. That Yoosung’s steeling himself to stop crying, that maybe he’s shown too much weakness in front of him and he should be embarrassed. Wait… Seven stares at Yoosung’s eyes for too long. He doesn’t look embarassed, at least not to Seven. In fact, Yoosung looks more...

“Fine.” ...Angry. Yoosung doesn’t seem like he has much patience anymore, especially after the day he just described.

“N-no, that’s not what I meant. Ugh, dammit, I don’t talk to people often, okay?” Seven babbles quickly. “Can you just call me something else? Luciel feels… only my boss calls me that.” Not completely untrue. Vanderwood only calls him that when they’re trying some weird type of parenting, scolding Seven for the state of his home. And V… well, V definitely called him Luciel, as if he had completely forgotten he ever responded to another name.

Being steely clearly isn’t Yoosung’s strong point, because he sits back down immediately.

“What should… what can I call you, then?” For a moment, Seven wonders if he hears loneliness ringing in Yoosung’s tone. It’s low and melodic and resonates with his soul as if it were a metronome designed to match pace with that specific sound. It creates an uncomfortable nestling feeling at the base of his spine. He doesn’t want to hurt this stranger, yet Seven also isn’t sure how much he can trust him.

“My friends call me Seven.” A lie. It’s easier when Seven refers to himself as a number. Numbers make sense; they have a place in the universe, they’re wanted, and logical, and undeniably useful. Seven likes to think of himself as something abstract, like a number; that way he doesn’t have to think of himself as a brother - or, as Saeran put it, a traitorous motherfucker. God. That still stings.

“Seven…” Yoosung repeats it, turning over the words on his tongue. “Yeah, okay. Luciel kind of sounds like an angel. It’d be weird calling you that.” He offers Seven a half-smile, and Seven barely returns it. There’s no point in explaining that Luciel is his baptismal name, and it reflects the outcast lifestyle he’s chosen.

“Did they let you in to see your, uh, cousin?” Seven changes the subject. How does this blonde kid know V? Who’s his cousin? When Seven gets home, he’s going to thoroughly investigate him.

“Oh, uh, no, but they took my contact information. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

“Right.” Seven agrees, yet he isn’t sure it means anything that they took his number.

A pause. Yoosung looks everywhere but Seven’s face, then focuses on the golden cross in the front of the room, like it’s somehow going to answer all his questions. There’s plenty of opportunity to leave, and it’s clear Yoosung’s considering it based on the way his fingers drum across the strap of his backpack. Seven notes the LOLOL pins adorning the front pocket. Maybe this kid’s not so different from him, after all. Another time he’ll ask Yoosung about these pins. Now though, Seven needs to gather himself mentally to start extracting information from Yoosung, especially about V.

“You said V is your cousin’s fiancé?”

“Oh. Yeah?”

“Do you talk to V a lot?” Seven can’t even get ahold of him, maybe Yoosung has a phone number, or… something. Yoosung shakes his head, completely crumbling the foundation where Seven was beginning to build his hope.

“No. He and Rika - that’s my cousin’s name - were doing some overseas charity work through the church… barely saw them anyway.” Rika. His cousin. V’s fiance. The woman Seven sat beside in church? No way. The people who got him into this line of work. It’s looking more and more likely that Yoosung’s an agent. Most agents have better field training than 707. Well, fuck.

Also, what’s that crap about overseas work? The S.O.S. V sent out last year was based in Korea, definitely not overseas. Seven wonders if overseas charity was a codename for something.

“Oh. You said he called you, though?” Seven continues.

“Uh, yep.” Yoosung pulls out his phone. Seven uses all his willpower not to just rip the phone from Yoosung’s hands and search for the information he needs, but he can’t do that. At best, it’ll be met with hostility; at worst, it’ll cause a scene and potentially compromise his chances of seeing Saeran again.

“Can I have the number?”

“Why?” Of course that’s the first question he would ask.

“Oh… did I not tell you? I know him. Yeah, V and I go way back.” 707 persona channelled perfectly. Only problem is the change was so abrupt that Yoosung isn’t buying it. He flips through his phone’s call logs despite not looking completely convinced.

“Okay.” If this line were a meme, Yoosung would be saying “Okay. That sounds fake, but okay.” Most of his social interactions take the form of memes lately. It’s easiest to express himself in picture form, referencing some vague collective culture among millennials. He may be tripter famous, but now isn’t the time to be thinking of fucking memes. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what you talked to the police about.”

This all seems too casual. Seven noted before that Yoosung was determined when  he fought the nurse, and he was determined at the beginning of this conversation. Seven’s impressed to note that this determination hasn’t faltered since their conversation began. Yoosung clearly wants more information, and Seven's the only source he's got.

“You first.” Seven didn’t take conversationalist training, but he’s not an idiot. He isn’t going to give away unnecessary information. However, this is an exchange, so it requires some type of tact.

Yoosung pulls a notebook out of his bag. Right, he said he ditched class and this is a university hospital; it makes complete sense for him to have a notebook. If Yoosung is an agent, Seven’s impressed at his dedication to his character. He unconsciously adjusts his glasses, pushing them up his nose with the tips of his fingers.

“If you answer my questions, I’ll give you the number V used to call me.”

“Depends what the questions are.”

“What did the police want to talk to you about?”

Seven isn’t sure if this intel will go public or not, except he finds he doesn’t really care. These secrets aren’t his own, they belong to the police... and Seven isn’t being paid to keep their secrets. If Seven can trust V’s word, telling Yoosung won’t affect Saeran.

“Questions about the cult.”

Yoosung’s facade falters. It’s starting to look a little unlikely that Yoosung’s an agent, after all. No one breaks that fast.

“C-cult? What? What cult?”

“I don’t know, they wouldn’t tell me.”

“What did they tell you?”

“They’re all members.”

“Rika, too?” Yoosung squeaks, and his voice raises in pitch. Yoosung looks young, Seven admits, and his voice is soft and low, like a prepubescent version of V. It’s having a weirdly calming effect on him, and despite Seven’s stoic appearance, his heart is beating quickly. He isn’t good at espionage or conversations. If anyone was around who received that training, they’d mock him for being outright ridiculous.

“Probably.” Seven’s surprised he sounds so put-together. This is like when he saw Yoosung panicking beside the elevator. Everything Yoosung is feeling is plain in his face and his body language. Seven’s almost jealous - if only it were as easy for him to display himself and his emotions like that.

Yoosung doesn’t have any more questions for a few minutes. He’s clearly letting the information sink in. If Seven were to define this emotion, he’d assume it’s nausea. Yoosung’s gripping the chair with both hands, crushing the piece of paper between his palm and the cushioned chair.

“Rika’s alive, and… she’s in a cult? That doesn’t make sense!”

Yoosung’s right. It doesn’t make sense for the person Seven remembered, either. He recalls that brief exchange in the hallway, when she was being carted from one safe room to another. Seven overheard the police talking; they had suspicions that she had a higher rank in the cult, just based on how the other members reacted to her presence. In fact, she seemed to make them more defiant and it was hard talking to them as it were with the drugs in their system. Seven kept quiet as she stared at him, eyes piercing into his very being, and let herself be escorted into another room.

The Rika he remembered may not have been a cult leader, but… the Rika he just saw? Seven couldn’t outright deny the accusation as baseless.

“Anything else?” Seven pushes, feeling a little uncomfortable. He’s been out of his house too long. The nurses won’t let him back in the unit. He left one of his cell phone numbers (they’re all redirected to the one device anyway,) and intended to go home, but… he needed God first. He didn’t expect to be followed by a stray, blonde puppy.

“No…” Yoosung responds, voice deflated. He holds up the piece of paper to Seven who snatches it like a kid having their favourite toy returned.

Now, he has two items on his agenda for when he gets home: call V, and learn about Yoosung Kim.

"H-hang on!" Yoosung calls as soon just as Seven's crossed the threshold into the hallway. He's standing, his backpack slung haphazardly over his shoulder, and half slipping off. "What do you think of your family being part of the... the cult?" Yoosung looks like he abhors the word, like it's vinegar on his tongue. 

Seven sucks in a breath. He hasn't seen Saeran in how many years? He assumed his life was progressing normally, that all the money he's been earning has benefited Saeran in some way. Now, Seven wonders if it's all for naught. 

"I believe it." 


	4. Chapter 4

When Seven finally makes it home, making only one detour to pick a greasy fast food meal, his entire apartment feels uncanny. It was as if someone had been here when he was absent, ghostly fingers touching everything and leaving invisible ectoplasm that can only be sensed, not seen. Seven found that he even fumbles getting his keys on the hook, completely missing it the first time as the keys crash to the floor. He removes his striped glasses, trading them for the muted pair. He throws the medical face mask, now hanging off his neck, to the floor. He doesn’t bother hanging up the sweater and kicks off his shoes haphazardly, letting them fall wherever gravity decided they should go. None of it felt like it was important enough for his attention right now.

If Seven was being honest with himself, he wanted to crawl back into bed, yet he hated the idea of going back into his bedroom to stare at the same four bare walls, to look at his computer and listen to the fans whirr as it works. He doesn’t want to go back into the place he’s holed himself up in because it no longer feels safe.

Seven used to imagine his room as a safe room of sorts, with plush walls. Almost like it was his own form of solitary confinement. However, the plush walls kept him safe, kept any jarring life incidents from feeling too unbearable, because even if everything was flipped upside down, he’d never feel the hurt in his bones, in his heart, in his core.

When he found out his mother had died, Seven found assuagement by turning off the world and crawling into his bed. She wasn’t a good mother. There was no way to fight that statement. She was a shitty mom, who had apparently lost the love she had for life and her children and tried filling that hole with alcohol and money. When neither worked, she filled it with anger. Seven assumes, at least. He tries not to think about it because he doesn't want to understand. He worries understanding might overlap with justification and he'd accept her actions as forgivable.

But he was still sad. Despite everything, despite the way she hurt him and Saeran, despite the way she mistreated them, she was still their mother. No amount of hurt or anger could change that. Deep down inside, past the hate and the reluctance to admit it, even to himself, and past the absolute desire to have anyone else in the world as a mother… Seven still loved her; the only way a son could love a mother like that, with this sorrowful emptiness in his stomach, knowing that she would never be the person he wanted her to be.

Her death hurt, like Seven was losing another piece of his identity.

Admittedly though, it only hurt momentarily, like removing a poisonous barb from his side. He was aggrieved, but then he felt relieved that there was no danger of him turning the corner, or turning on a light in a dark room, only to find her, drunk and angry, fists clenched, knowing what would happen next…

Of course, she hadn’t seen him in years, and there was no chance he’d walk from his bedroom to the bathroom and encounter her, but the dread… the dread was still there. When she died, Seven read the obituary over and over. Then he checked online, through backdoors in the morgue’s shitty website security, just to read the stamped and signed death certificate. When that wasn’t enough, Seven discreetly attended her funeral.

He didn’t recognize a soul in attendance. He stood awkwardly, with his striped glasses and his matching sweater, a glass of ice water cradled in his hands. The ice circled around the glass, clinking each time it hit the edges. The sound only reminded him of alcohol and when she first started to drink. She tried to keep it disguised by mixing it with soda and ice. It wasn’t long before she dropped that facade entirely and started drinking directly from the bottle.

Seven waited for someone to notice him, for someone to ask him his relation to the deceased. When someone finally found him, glued to the wall in the corner, phone in his hand because he couldn’t stop working even when he was out in the real world, he looked up, his face the mask of a practised smile and said “No relation.”

It felt so good to forsake her at her own funeral.

It felt so good, Seven was sure it was immoral.

Finding Saeran again didn’t feel the same way. Seven loved his mother for what she was, while simultaneously understanding what she would never be. But Saeran… Saeran he loved for his gentleness and his potential, for the fact that he saw nothing of their mother within him.

He had always wondered that if Saeran was the gentle of the two of them, that must mean Seven had inherited all the bad traits. Maybe that’s why Seven tried so hard to make a persona for himself, one that was desirable and mysterious and so far from how he believed himself to be. If he obfuscated his personality from everyone, including himself, he’d never have to acknowledge the similarities he inherited from his mother.

Now Seven’s world feels jarred, like when he smacks the side of his PC tower to stop it from rattling. The whirring didn’t stop, though, unlike his computer. It continued as his brain worked in overdrive to fathom some type of reason why Rika and Saeran would resurface, whatever the hell V’s email meant, and whether or not he should trust that cute blonde with the compassionate eyes.

Seven remembers the last words he said to Yoosung. “I believe it.” It wasn’t a lie. Saeran looked… well, different didn’t even begin to encompass the way it truly was. Saeran acted completely different; his hair wasn’t red like Seven’s, it looked dyed, and his eyes were the wrong colour. His tone of voice was wrong, too; it was unhinged and raw, razor blades against pavement, like he’d been screaming for hours. Saeran’s eyes were unfocused, but he _saw_ Seven... and the way his eyes widened and his lip quivered, an expression Seven’s sure he mirrored, Saeran knew _exactly_ who he was when he shouted.

Plenty of things had burned themselves into Seven’s mind, especially since he began this line of work. He thought it was astounding that he even had some hurt left to feel when Saeran’s words scooped out a hole in his heart.

“You traitorous motherfucker.”

Behind closed doors, Seven no longer has to pretend he was stone. Usually, when his depression was at its worst, he would hole himself up in his bedroom. He trudges his way to the sofa he never uses, feeling like his limbs are controlled by a lazy puppeteer, and slumps onto the cushions, face pressed into the cold, scratchy fabric. It’s a shitty couch. All the furniture in this place is shitty, but it’s something.

***

“Jesus Christ, kid. What the hell?”

Seven’s still laying on the couch. The cushions have absorbed his warmth, and there’s even a small face-shaped indent that’s cradling his cheek perfectly. If there was someone in Seven’s life to cradle his cheek like this, he believes it would feel something like this couch does right now. If Seven pretends hard enough, it almost feels like another person.

He read a psychological study once that took baby monkeys away from their mothers and gave them two options of fake mothers; a mother made of cloth, or a mother made of wire. Largely, baby monkeys preferred the soft cloth mother. It was interesting; if not to identify the reason why he acted certain ways, why he needed physical comfort even though he’s never nourished that side of himself with hopeless thoughts, like a person to hold his cheek or wipe his tears.

Seven flips onto his back, looking over at his guest. Vanderwood’s stormed across the threshold of the living room, standing over his prone form with their arms crossed over their chest. Seven isn’t dressed as 707 anymore, but he wishes he was. Seven reaches his arms out lazily.

“Vandyyyyyy,” he whines. “Hold me.”

“Get the fuck up,” Vanderwood replies, walking away in a huff.

Seven’s reluctant to listen. He just watches as Vanderwood disappears into the kitchen. They’ve entered some weird state of domestic familiarity. Vanderwood appears every so often to retrieve the information Seven’s contracted to collect, but at the same time, he tidies up Seven’s place. V never did anything like that, but each time he visited, V would stay for an extended period of time, offering wisdom or the parental comfort Seven’s been denied most of his life. He would put his hand on Seven’s shoulder, and Seven would feel like an RPG character who has just been magically inspired. He’d roll criticals on all his attacks for the next few days (attacks meaning work,) and he’d move a little faster, as well, due to a haste spell.  

Vanderwood didn’t inspire Seven the same way V did… but they cleaned, and when Seven begged enough, they started cooking, too. Vanderwood was one hell of a cook despite being a vegetarian, and their curried lentils always made Seven salivate.

Seven wonders if it’s part of Vandy’s job description to ensure their hacker underlings are well taken care of; to boost morale, or whatever. Vanderwood is a shitty bard, though. They must have a zero modifier in charisma.

Seven gets to his feet when his stomach gurgles, sounding akin to a monster requiring nutrients. More than once, Seven wishes he was a cyborg. Having to eat is so inconvenient. He wishes he could eat once a month or once a week, or only eat things he wants to eat because his body is powered by electricity instead of nutrients.

Seven wanders into the kitchen, only perturbed slightly by the rhythmic pounding of a knife on a cutting board. Seven doesn’t even remember having those items in his kitchen, or that bag of potatoes on the counter beside him.

“Brought me food? What a good maid!” Seven sings. He hopes that Vandy can’t tell how empty he feels inside.

“Do I look like a maid to you?” Vanderwood asks, one hand on their hip, holding the knife up so the edge glinted from the overhead lighting. Seven hides his smile behind clasped hands. He shakes his head vehemently, then steps out of the kitchen and settles back on the sofa.

It’s fun when someone else is around, even if Vanderwood isn’t necessarily tons of fun themselves. Just… there’s something about being in a space that someone else encompasses… knowing there’s another person, another body living and breathing and sharing his space makes Seven feel a little less lonesome. It’s actually pathetic.

Seven pulls out his phone, and scrolls through Tripter. It’s boring today, and he can’t stop his mind from wandering.

  
“Hey Ms. Vanderwood…” Seven calls from his place on the couch.

“What?” an annoyed voice sounds from the kitchen.

“About Agent 05-”

  
“Nope, I’m done talking about him with you.”

Agh. Foiled again. It doesn’t help Seven’s case that he used to ask about V weekly when he was re-assigned to Vanderwood.

“Then why are you here?” Seven whines.

“The USB.”

Oh. Seven hasn’t even checked his computer since he got home. He doesn’t even know if the information has been extracted yet.

“Oh… uh, is it the 15th already? Wowie, time flies when you’re having fun.”

A pregnant pause. Seven gulps.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me, Agent 707?” And here comes Vandy, storming out with an enraged expression. “You never gave your other recruiter this type of shit!”

“H-hang on, hang on, hang on,” Seven says quickly and in one breath, especially when he sees Vanderwood isn’t carrying the knife anymore. That only means one thing: taser time. “I’ll - I’ll go check on it r-right now… you, uh, stay beautiful!”

Without waiting for a response, Seven darts down the hall and into his bedroom. He slumps against the door and closes his eyes. Vanderwood isn’t his mother, but damn, they’re still all types of scary.

Seven forces himself to check on his computer when he’d much rather slump into that bed with a styrofoam container of stir fried beef and some crispy chicken balls, extra batter. Healthy eating was never Seven’s strong suit.

Everything he set up before he left the house is complete now; it’s probably been complete for hours if Seven was being completely honest. He thinks he got home sometime around late afternoon, and checking the clock now, it’s almost past midnight. Did Seven truly just lie there unthinking for hours? Was he even asleep? Perhaps this is his first taste of catatonic behaviour. He needs to ensure Vanderwood never finds out about this.

If they do, they might force him into some additional training, or… something. Seven tries not to think of the Agency as some evil corporation with a bald overlord and a matching hairless cat, but his brain doesn’t ever seem to listen. Seven’s sure if they found out his mental health was deteriorating this much, the Agency would force some drug on him, or some new age psychotherapy that’s just brainwashing, or… actually, he’d rather not find out.

Seven loads everything onto the usb, sees that it’s going to take over an hour to transfer the information, and decides to make himself look busy by looking up all the information he can on one Yoosung Kim.

Seven hasn’t forgotten about meeting him, and he hasn’t forgotten about the phone number Yoosung gave him, one that he’s been too afraid to even dial. Seven isn’t afraid of V; he’s afraid of what he will find when he sees V again.

With his mother, he understood her nature. With V, Seven’s always seen nebulous, blurry bits of who he actually was, but... despite that, Seven trusted him. Calling V and talking to him might disrupt the steadfast idea that V would never do him or Saeran wrong. It’s a scary thought.

Seven has no trouble locating Yoosung’s social media. First, he finds his Facebook profile. Yoosung’s pretty unremarkable; SKY University student, LOLOL fanboy, brown hair (the blonde isn’t natural, Seven realizes,) and he’s always smiling in every picture. Seven didn’t get to see Yoosung smile when they met at the hospital, but it’s very nice, very genuine. Oh, and there are pictures of Rika, too. Not of V, though… probably for a good reason, too. Can’t have an Agent’s face online like that.

Seven continues scrolling. Aside from various selfies, Yoosung seems to take a lot of photographs of the food he cooks. It makes Vanderwood’s food look like crap in comparison. Seven notes that aside from a few candid photographs (one of Yoosung sleeping, and another of him eating a burger mid bite,) he isn’t ever shown with anyone. He isn’t ever with anyone else. For a moment, Seven wonders about-

A loud, ominous banging on the door cuts through his thoughts.   
“I’m coming in!” Halfway through that sentence, Vanderwood has already slammed the door open. They crinkle their nose when they see the general state of disarray. “What the fuck…” they mutter under their breath, then bend over and start picking stuff up. “Get this shit done before I leave, Agent 707, or else the higher ups will be pissed at both of us.”

“It’s transferring!” Seven quickly navigates away from Yoosung’s Facebook page and swivels around in his chair, legs bumping into his mattress and then Vanderwood’s back as they scoot past to pick up one of the many empty pizza boxes in the room. “It’ll be done soon, Ms. Boss Man.”

Vanderwood just rolls their eyes.   
“The sooner you get this done, the sooner we can go on vacation.”

Oh right, the two weeks that were promised to him. Seven silently thanks God for the convenient timing. Now, he can focus on Saeran without worrying about his duties or Vanderwood finding him out of the apartment. Two weeks might not be enough time to solve this whole issue, but… it’ll totally give him time to get things sorted out.

  
“Hey Vandy, where ya gonna go?”

“Don’t know… somewhere where no one will recognize me.”

  
“Wanna borrow some of my wigs, or my dresses?”

“I’ve got my own.” Of course they do; Vanderwood’s the one who taught him about disguises.

  
“Yeah, but mine are better quality!”

“Like hell they are,” Vanderwood retorts instantly, then edges out of the room with their arms piled high with leftover takeout containers and chip bags. “Look, you know I’m not gonna tell you shit about myself, right?”

Seven pauses to wipe his tired eyes, using his hand to distract from his minor break in character.

“I wish we could be closer,” Seven sing songs. If one listened closely, they might have heard the small truth ringing out in that tone. Vanderwood clearly catches it.

“That’s not how this works, and you know it.”

Seven does know it. He wishes it weren’t true, though. Seven turns back to his computer. He designed this baby to be fast, and it’s already proving its worth tenfold by turning an hour long transfer into a fifteen minute one.

“This line of work isn’t that bad,” Vanderwood shouts down the hall. He returns less than a minute later with a garbage bag, deciding it’s easier than hauling the mess down the hallway.

“I mean it, the agency doesn’t stop you from doing shit. You can go outside and do stuff, as long as you don’t compromise yourself. You can go enjoy shit.” Vanderwood forcibly shoves garbage into the bag. “Do some drugs or fuck somebody. You don’t hafta just sit in here and be miserable.”

“Fuck somebody, huh?” Seven grins, using his bravado to hide the fact that there was absolutely nothing appealing about that idea. “You stud!”

“Whatever. Is the transfer done?”

Seven pulls out the USB from his PC, caps it, and hands it to Vanderwood, who grabs it with one gloved hand and deposits it in their pocket.

“Food’s on the stove. Don’t just eat crap all the time, okay?” They point to the garbage bag full of the ghost of Seven’s past meals as if he should be ashamed of his eating habits.

Bad eating habits just mean he’ll die sooner. Seven isn’t suicidal, but he isn’t opposed to an accident happening one day, like… a freak heart attack due to stress and a bad lifestyle.

“I can’t believe you care!” Seven bats his eyelashes and puts one hand on his cheek as if he were a maiden hiding his blush.

Vanderwood carts the bag of garbage out of his bedroom, pointing one gloved finger at Seven.

“Two weeks. Then I’ll be back with another assignment.”

“You got it, Mr. Boss Lady.”


	5. Chapter 5

After Vanderwood leaves, Seven sleeps. He ensures to turn off the stove (half because Vanderwood texted him to remind his forgetful butt, and half because he was sure the Agency would freak out if he burned the place down due to negligence.) When he finally lays in the bed, purposefully ignoring the rumbling in his stomach (no, body, you don’t get to eat when you let me zone out for ten hours) he falls asleep. 

Sleep for 707 comes in two forms: insomnia, tossing and turning and kicking off the blankets only to frustratingly grab them again when the lack of softness makes the bed unbearably unwelcoming, or knocked out so effectively it’s like someone took a pillowcase full of bricks to his face. 

Today, it’s the latter. It’d been one hell of a day and Seven wasn’t even sure he processed everything. Sleep was a better option. Sleep meant he could shut his stupid brain off for a few hours. This was well-deserved. 

***

Again. Seven’s back in that hospital hallway. He’s watching Rika get carted off by some talkative policemen. He’s seeing the eerie and inhumane glint in her eye that suggested she remembered him but couldn’t place who exactly he was. It looked like she was deconstructing and reconstructing his identity with just her eyes, with one passing glance that showed an incomprehensible depth. 

Seven tried not to focus on her eyes, tried not to see how her wide-eyed expression made the overhead lighting hit the green in a way that made them look unnatural and poisonous instead of earthy. 

“You traitorous mothefucker!” 

Saeyoung flinches like he’s been shot. And he might as well have been. If all pain accompanied a physicality, then blood would be leaking from his heart and blossoming across the front of his shirt. He turns to look at Saeran, a hand instinctively going to his chest; a habit from when he was a child, as if he could hold in his heart and his emotions as they threatened to spill out of him and onto the hospital floor. 

When his hand touches his shirt, it feels damp. Saeyoung looks down. Panic seizes hold of him as he lifts his fingers, taking in the blood speckling his fingertips and outlining his fingerprint. 

There’s something about seeing his own fingerprint that’s more jarring than the blood. It’s a reminder of an identity he gave up. For a second, the blood flashes black like the ink Saeyoung used to seal away his identity and become an agent. He recalls the five blank boxes, one for each of his fingertips, and the feeling as he pressed each one into an inkpad then into the white, crisp paper. Saeyoung rushes to wipe it on his hands, hating the reminder of who he became, especially with Saeran in the room.

The room… 

Wait, where did the hall go?

Seven looks up. He’s just in a room with Saeran now. The hospital sounds eons away, like someone stuffed his ears with cotton balls. When he opens his mouth to speak, it feels fuzzy and he wonders if all the blood in his body has been switched with cotton. Tears prickle the corners of his eyes as he looks toward Saeran in desperation, blood stained hands outreached. 

Seven knows the words he wants to say. He wants to shout Saeran’s name, and tell him he loves him and that he’s sorry, but the words just don’t come. His voice is nonexistent. When he opens his mouth to speak, it’s like his vocal cords just never existed in the first place. Saeran’s not reacting to him. He’s standing there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, managing to look absolutely menacing despite wearing a hospital gown. 

The gaze feels reminiscent of their mother. No, not just reminiscent… in fact, it’s the mirror image of their mother’s stony gaze. Of the way she used to look at both the twins; like they were utter disappointments and it was somehow their fault that they turned out so pathetic. Saeyoung’s heart cried out for the smile he used to see on Saeran’s face, and before he knows it, he’s stumbled on some invisible obstacle between him and Saeran. 

Now, he’s on his knees, fat tears running streaks down his face and slipping into his mouth between sobs. By the pain in his chest, Saeyoung’s sure he’s still bleeding. When he wipes away tears, he notices the blossom in his shirt is no longer the extent of the damage. His chest is bleeding freely now. It’s a gripping, visceral pain that leaves him immobile. 

It’s a struggle just to look up at Saeran, now towering over him. This time, Saeran’s got a knife. The knife’s jagged and dripping black ooze. Saeran’s tongue skirts along the sharp edge of the blade, and winces when he, presumably, cut his tongue. He keeps his eyes locked with Saeyoung’s, letting the cut bleed and the blood pool on his tongue, trickling down the sides of his mouth. For a small cut, Saeyoung’s surprised at how much he bleeds.

Saeyoung wants to ask what the ooze is, wants to stop Saeran from his predatory display, wants to fucking say  _ something _ , dammit. Words only come out as a dry cough, which is a scary contrast to the way he’s bleeding onto his jeans and the floor in front of him.

Saeran speaks, as if he understood what Saeyoung had to say. Saeyoung wonders briefly if this is like when they’d finish each other’s sentences as kids. Twin sense. Saeyoung always believed in the unbelievable. 

“It’s your soul.” 

Saeyoung’s eyes widen and his hand reaches out for Saeran. He manages to get one red stained hand on his leg before Saeran kicks him off with a rough jerk. 

“No one needs you, Agent 707.” 

Saeran knew then. He knew what Seven was.

***

When Seven wakes up, he’s covered in a cold sheen of sweat. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he’s overwhelmed enough to start crying. He kicked his blankets off at some point during the night, so he fishes for them in the darkness and bunches them up beside him so he can wrap one leg and both arms around them, as if they were a person. 

He sobs into the plush fabric and pretends it’s someone with soothing words and warm fingers and a steady heartbeat. Seven rubs his face into the folds of the blanket and tries to regulate his breathing.

Saeran’s fine, right? He will be fine, at least. Seven’s going to make absolute sure of that. He has no idea what Saeran’s been doing these past ten years, but there’s no way he knows what Seven has been doing. He’s been keeping too close of an eye on his internet presence, and aside from his Tripter that’s gotten fairly popular… he isn’t really online. No, there’s no way Saeran knows that he's an agent.

A loud vibrate distracts Seven from the onslaught of his thoughts. Two vibrates in, the phone’s display screen lights up and it begins chiming in tune with the buzzing. A phone call. Seven, absolutely determined not to leave his bed now that he’s in it, crawls over to the edge of the mattress and reaches to his computer desk. He has to perch awkwardly right at the tip, one hand resting on the floor as he stretches. It’s probably more work than just getting up, but… he’s already got his fingers loosely around the phone. Success.    
Under normal circumstances, Seven would never answer his phone. No one calls him anyway, except for the takeout places he orders from. When he checks the call display and sees it’s SKY University hospital, Seven’s sure his heart stops for a minute. He accepts the call, but fails to find his voice in time to say hello. He wonders briefly if he’s still locked within the dream world and his wake up sequence had been all part of his mind’s narrative. 

“Mr. Choi?” a feminine voice, made grainy from the phone static, says. 

“Y-yes?” Seven coughs out, voice hoarse from crying. 

“The preliminary investigation is over. You can come visit your family now.”

“F-family?” Fuck. He’s stuttering all over the place but no one has ever acknowledged that he  has family before. 

“Yes… one of the patients is your brother?” 

Oh shit. He’s been found out. Seven’s breath turns icy. 

“R-right.” In the bible, Peter forsook Jesus three times. Seven only abandoned his brother once, yet he feels akin to Peter; unworthy of forgiveness. Like hell Seven was ever going to deny his brother, though. 

“You can visit anytime now,” the woman repeats herself, voice perplexed.

“Okay… um, thanks.” 

When Seven hangs up, he quickly considers the pros and cons of taking a shower before he visits Saeran. If he’s completely honest, Seven wants to rush out there now, with just his boxers on, and go spend time with his brother. If he went out in his current state, though, people would probably start to wonder about him, and Seven wants to discourage himself from being noticed. Reluctantly, he slips into the shower, refreshing himself and his body. 

By the time he’s dressed and ready to go, Seven switches into his striped glasses and his signature sweater before leaving the house. He needs to be as strong as possible for facing Saeran the first time. 

***

Seven fucking hates hospitals. He decides that as soon as he steps back into the unit. His hands are clammy so he keeps them shoved into his baggy sweater pockets. He approaches the nurses’ desk, only pushing back his hood to present his ID to the nurse. She looks at it, seemingly bored, before waving him into the unit. 

The doors still look the same. It’s only been… what? A day? A day and a half? Two days? Seven has no concept of time anymore (not like he had one before.) He hears the scrape of metal on metal as the door clicks unlocked. He pushes into the unit, fully expecting to be greeted by Rika again. 

No one is in the hallway except a nurse carting around a wheelable station with a computer attached to the top and many drawers in the bottom. He approaches her and asks for Saeran’s room. Seven does not want to accidentally wander into Rika’s room. He doesn’t know if he could handle that right now. Seven isn’t even sure if he can handle seeing Saeran, but nothing in the universe is going to stop him from seeing his brother. 

She directs him down the hall and to the right. It’s a private room, as are all the ones in this unit. Seven hesitates just a minute, considering whether to ask her what exactly this unit is designed for, but he decides it isn’t important. He briskly walks to Saeran’s room, only because he’s sure sprinting isn’t allowed.

Seven might as well have sprinted to his room, though, because of the way his heart is pounding and his limbs are trembling. He has an abundance of excess anxiety and it’s forcing its way into his mannerisms as he bounces on the balls of his feet and nervously threads his hand through his hair. He keeps staring at the plaque on the door. There’s no name, only a room number. It almost feels like Saeran’s name is plastered all over it, though. The edges of his vision are buzzing with nerves. 

Eventually, after pacing and checking his phone three times to ensure no one has e-mailed him, he steps into Saeran’s room. There’s a minute of quiet as the curtain is pulled back to reveal Saeran lying in his hospital bed, staring out the window. Seven intended to memorize every detail about this moment. However, Saeran’s eyes are mesmerizing, not only the colour but the raw emotion within them.  They finally lock eyes, gold mirroring green, and Seven finds the courage to speak.

“Saer-”

Saeran starts screaming. It’s deafening and heart breaking. It causes medical and security personnel to rush into the room, trying to calm him. It’s horrifying to watch as Seven stands at the edges of the room, tears streaming down his face in silent testament to his pain. 

As if in direct contrast, Saeran roars until his voice cracks. It must be painful because despite his thrashing and cursing, tears are coating his cheeks. Saeran twists, fueled by pure adrenaline and hatred, and manages to punch a security guard in the face. Seven’s impressed that the punch does little to faze the security guard, who didn’t react at all, only a bloody lip betraying that he’d been punched at all. He holds Saeran down, unflinching, and waits for the medical staff to administer some type of sedative injection into Saeran’s thigh.  

A nurse leads him out of the room, trying to explain his medical situation. She apologizes over and over, saying that the nurse at the station outside should have debriefed him on everything they found in his system. Saeran’s extremely unstable (obviously, Seven thinks,) he has at least three hallucinogens in his system, as well as a highly addictive opioid. The hallucinogens are not addictive, but they anticipate he’s been on them so long that the effects of reality may be jarring. He hasn’t seen a psychologist yet since he doesn’t seem able to hold proper conversations. Once he’s more adjusted, they want to put him into counselling, probably behavioural therapy. This is not dissimilar treatment associated with most of the cult victims. 

Saeran is refusing to eat. If this continues, they may be forced to put him on a TPN. 

“A what?” Seven interrupts her. 

“A total parenteral nutrition.” An IV bag attached to the PICC line in his arm. 

Seven takes in all this seemingly disjointed information, all the while feeling as if the hospital has dropped several degrees in temperature. His fingers are freezing and his blood feels icy. He wouldn’t be surprised if each exhalation was accompanied by small steam clouds, like on a cold winter’s morning. 

Seven can’t find the words to respond; he only nods, swallowing once or twice to try to dislodge the lump in his throat that’s obstructing his breathing. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” she concludes, in a small voice. “We have people here you can talk to, as well. There’s support. You aren’t alone.” 

Seven nods again. He knows her words are meant to be comforting, but they only serve to make him feel more isolated, because she’s wrong; he  _ is  _ alone. He can’t ever tell anyone about the shit he went through to ensure Saeran was safe, and now he turns up seemingly broken beyond repair.

“Can I… can I see him?” Seven asks meekly. 

“The alprazolam takes a few minutes to kick in… why don’t you go get a coffee and come back?”

“It was intramuscular?”

“Huh?” She seems surprised. “Oh, yeah. You know about it?”   
“A little bit.” He has a considerable amount of general knowledge. It benefits an agent to have a wide repertoire of skills to pull on. That was one thing he didn’t hate about his training; Seven loved learning. He just didn’t love learning to talk to people.

Seven’s shoulders slump as the nurse excuses herself to get back to work. He unhappily resigns himself to checking out the hospital’s cafeteria to kill time. Saeran didn’t look like he even wanted to see Seven. When Seven entered the room, he felt calmed seeing how quietly peaceful Saeran looked, staring out the window. Seven’s unwanted presence completely shattered that.

Looking back, this wasn’t the first thing he’d shattered. Seven can’t help but think of himself as a failure, who didn’t pursue enough options to help him and his brother. 

Unconsciously, his hands rise to the cross around his neck, where he grips it for strength. He turns and walks out of the unit, but not before making eye contact with a blonde boy he recognizes. Yoosung looks like he wants to say something, his mouth even parts to speak, but Seven walks away before he has a chance.

He isn’t in the mood to talk right now. 

***

Seven returns thirty agonizingly long minutes later with a butter tart and a hot chocolate. He never liked coffee. People in popular media always talk about how it’s a staple to their diet, necessary for their everyday lives, and apparently increases their alertness. All Seven sees is a legalized drug that people have conditioned themselves into requiring. 

It doesn’t help him anyway. Coffee always just spikes Seven’s anxiety, making him jittery in much the same way as he’s feeling right now, and does nothing for his concentration. 

He’s let back into the unit with no problems.

Seven doesn’t hesitate in front of Saeran’s room. The worst has already happened anyways… if Saeran was a tidal wave before, Seven prays for calm waters, like a sailor about to take to sea. He’s determined to talk to Saeran. Seven has so many questions. 

He sits in a plastic chair beside the bed, taking in small details he failed to notice earlier. Saeran’s on an IV drip, a needle taped into his bruised arm. Seven doesn’t know if that’s because he was bruised before he was admitted, or while the security guard was holding him down, or while they put in the needle. It doesn’t matter, anyways. He notices Saeran’s arms and legs are now strapped down to the bed, holding him in place with thick metal locks, almost resembling a belt buckle. They’re strapped across his body, big black belts holding him in a forced swaddle with the blanket underneath. 

Seven hates seeing Saeran strapped down again. He’s seen it too many times during his childhood. It’s almost more painful now because it isn’t accompanied by Saeran’s high-pitched wailing. It’s just… silence, like an animal who’s accepted defeat.

Saeran’s chosen, once again, to watch the sky. His chest is rising and falling slowly, unencumbered by pain or stress. His mint eyes lazily slide over from the window to Seven’s face. Expression unchanging, he looks Seven up and down, then looks back outside the window. 

Seven follows suit.

“That cloud looks like a cupcake,” Seven says slowly, turning back to Saeran to look for a change in expression. There isn’t one. 

“I brought you a butter tart.” 

Again, no response. Is it the sedatives, or is Saeran making a deliberate choice to not speak to him? Seven sits down, angling the chair so he can see both Saeran and the clouds rolling outside. 

Time passes. Seven isn’t watching the clock. He’s just so pleased to have some time with his brother. Everything is so still. It almost feels like a sick, twisted tableau of when they were kids.

Occasionally, Seven speaks, hoping to coax an answer out of Saeran.

“That one looks like a dog! Remember the neighbour’s dog?”

Silence.

“This buttertart has pecans in it. Have you ever had a pecan?”

Unblinking stare. 

“I remember you like ice cream. Should I bring you some next time?” 

Nothing.

Seven isn’t about to give up, though. Halfway through the butter tart, he leans over Saeran and presses it to his lips. Saeran doesn’t move, just watches Seven with defiance burning in his eyes. Seven lets his arm droop, and Saeran licks his lips, catching the sweet and sticky caramel left behind.

“More.” Saeran finally speaks. One word, but by god, it’s fucking something. Seven perks up immediately, and holds the butter tart up again. Saeran eats it from his hand, so gently that Seven wonders if the young boy he remembered still exists inside Saeran.

It almost makes him forget the bloody scabs on Saeran’s knuckles. 

With Saeran strapped down, Seven could easily reach out and touch his brother’s face or hands. It would be so easy to hug Saeran, or kiss him, or show him all the love Seven had bubbling inside him, that had been fermenting ever since he left his brother ten years ago. 

Seven refrains, though. This isn’t his first time visiting Saeran, and it probably won’t be his last. 

“I love you, Saeran.” 

However, his brother has chosen to be mute, once again. 


	6. Chapter 6

Seven stays with Saeran as long as he can. He has no responsibilities right now. His two week vacation has been a godsend. Saeran doesn’t speak again, despite Seven’s numerous attempts. He has to leave for food eventually, and since he gave half his butter tart to his brother, his stomach is grumbling angrily. 

Saeran’s still strapped down, and he can’t feed himself his dinner.  There’s still time to determine whether or not he’ll need the meal supplements the hospital mentioned. He accepted the butter tart earlier, but it seems he doesn’t want the soup the hospital delivered. When will they be untying Saeran? When they’ve determined he isn’t a threat anymore?

Seven concedes to the battle against his stomach, wishing once again he was an android that didn’t require food as he steps out into the hallway. That would be really cool… it would also mean he would be a pro hacker. But he’d need to be careful, because hacking with his android body might leave him susceptible to viruses. Seven remembers how many laptops he’s essentially destroyed by making a stupid mistake and allowing another hacker’s tricks to infiltrate his device. Imagining that happening to his android body is… yikes.

All thoughts of androids and human organs replaced with circuitry are cut off when he encounters someone in the hallway; a  familiar looking man in a business suit, adjusting his cuff links. It’s subtle, but Seven catches the way a momentary scowl passes his face. This man must be preoccupied with his thoughts, and the grimace can only mean they aren’t pleasant. He’s adjusting his suit in several places, tugging at his cuff links as he straightens his jacket and adjusts the fit of his vest. Despite being perfectly dressed, he removes his tie clip and re-clips three times. Someone’s following him, a woman with the same type of formal dress. She’s holding a briefcase and trailing behind the man. Seven watches. It feels a little too late in the day for someone to be here, unless… He checks his watch. It’s around dinnertime now. Maybe it’s possible they’re a couple who came after work.

“Assistant Kang,” the man says, and the rest of the sentence is too muffled to make out. Scratch that, not a couple. A business relationship then? Seven stays in the entranceway of Saeran’s room, watching. It’s unfortunate Seven neglected to put on a face mask today. He wanted to earn Saeran’s trust and hiding his face would only breed more distrust. Seven isn’t blind, though; he can see the distrust in his brother’s eyes already. 

Not important now. What are the mystery guests talking about?

From his angle, the couple disappears down the hall. He wants to watch them closer, because if he sees their faces more, maybe he can identify them. Subterfuge was one of Seven’s best skills, yet he stands out in a hospital hallway with his current attire and red hair. Seven hopes that just being silent is enough to eavesdrop on this particular conversation. He intends to be a little more subtle than Yoosung. 

They start walking down the hall towards the entrance to the unit. Seven hopes their conversation doesn’t go further than the confines of the area; otherwise, following them would prove problematic, especially because he isn’t in any type of disguise. 

“I’ve hired lawyers, but the evidence-” 

“I understand.” He cuts her off, then sighs. “I’ll see you back at the office, Assistant Kang.”

Her shoulders slump. Looks like that wasn’t the answer she had wanted. Assistant Kang stalks off without ever saying the name of her companion. Darn. He looks recognizable. Seven isn’t sure if he just has a familiar face or if this tickling feeling at the back of his brain is because he knows who this is. 

The man continues neurotically picking at his clothing. Seven’s been watching people long enough to understand that his cufflinks appear to be the prime form of his manifested anxiety. He catches sight of Seven, now standing in the hallway. Seven could only catch the end of the conversation and he’s ignored subtlety in favour of hearing information. If anything, Seven can hopefully play it off as being a quirky recluse. It isn’t like that’s far away from his personality, anyway. 

Seven goes to turn away when he sees the man frown at him, sees his brows furrow in some weird type of recognition. Seven wonders briefly if they’ve met once before. As soon as this stranger looks like he’s about to speak, the entire air is interrupted when Yoosung reappears. 

“Seven!” Yoosung calls. His tone is light and natural, as if he had talked to him many times. In truth, they haven’t spoken since their encounter two days ago. Seven was able to avoid him earlier, not out of any dislike for Yoosung, but just because he didn’t want to talk. Now, he’s almost thankful that Yoosung has interrupted the stranger from approaching him, has given them both time to reconsider their encounter. Seven turns to face Yoosung, ensuring he can only see the well-dressed man from the corner of his eye. 

“Hey, I saw you earlier, but you walked away.” 

Seven glances over as the stranger’s cell phone rings and he goes to leave the unit. 

“Yeah, sorry, I…”

“Got to see your family?” Yoosung’s perceptive. 

“Yeah,” Seven admits, sounding and feeling defeated.

“I know. I, uh, heard the screams.” 

Seven can tell Yoosung has all sorts of questions for him. He can see the questions spark to life in those inquisitive eyes of his. Despite it all, though, Yoosung looks much cheerier today. Is he glad to see Rika, or…?

“How’s she doing?” Seven decides to ask. Yoosung’s face drops.

“Oh, she’s… different than I remembered. Almost feels like a different person.” 

Seven can absolutely relate to that. 

“Does she talk to you?”

“Kind of…” Yoosung says. Seven notes that he avoids making eye contact as he speaks, choosing to look at the hospital floor, which is a discoloured shade of blue from overuse. The floor must have been cleaned recently, too; it glistens, and the cloying smell of chemicals is overwhelming. Seven didn’t notice before, likely because he was much too focused on figuring out whatever Assistant Kang and her companion were discussing. 

When Yoosung notices Seven isn’t responding, he continues hesitantly. 

“She keeps saying stuff she used to say. Like, how she wanted to help people. She asked me if I was still volunteering…” Yoosung coughs. “A-actually, I was going to get food. Wanna come? It’ll be less depressing alone.” 

Seven accepts reluctantly. He doesn’t want to be away from Saeran, even though Saeran hasn’t spoken a word since earlier. He’s content to just spend time with his brother. The questions were burning in his lungs, were bitter in his throat, and he knew that even if he bombarded Saeran now, he’d receive no response. Seven needed to focus on earning trust before he can earn answers. He wants to hear the truth from Saeran. He didn’t want to hear what the police have to say. 

However, perhaps Yoosung has something to add to this whole scenario. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

***

“You used to volunteer?” 

The hospital cafeteria is just as dull and muted as the rest of the building. Everything washed in inoffensive, off white colours with the occasional blue stripe. Plants hang on the pillars and on the wall, as if to say that this area was anything other than a hospital. Greenery does little to ease the general atmosphere of illness and unhappiness that clings to the air. 

Seven purchases himself a burger and fries meal deal. He notes that Yoosung opts to buy something from the vending machine since he was low on cash. Why did he tell Seven he was going for food if he didn’t have any money? 

When Seven offers to buy him something to eat Yoosung looks surprised, eyes wide, and then shakes his head. He didn’t want to impose. Seven understood it was only polite to ask. Perhaps he should have insisted he purchase something for Yoosung, but instead, they’re sitting down at a cafeteria table across from each other, the one plate of food sitting between them, the smell of grease hanging in the air. 

Seven’s barely eating. The food isn’t the most appetizing thing he’s ever seen. The burger is more bread than meat. He took one bite and decided he didn’t want it anymore, and was now just idly picking at the french fries. 

He’d been waiting too long for Yoosung to answer his question and he looks up, fry halfway to his mouth as he catches him staring at the burger. Yoosung had purchased some candy bar that he’d inhaled in a few bites. Based on the ravenous look Yoosung’s giving his burger, the chocolate must have not been enough.

“You want it?” Seven asks idly, popping a fry into his mouth. It’s greasy and limp. Not crispy like the ones he prefers. 

“Y-you don’t want it?” Yoosung looks torn between wanting to dive into the meal and the social pretense of politeness. 

“Naw.” Seven slides the tray so it’s between them. Yoosung reaches for the burger.    
“Anyway, you said you volunteer?” Seven repeats his question from earlier. 

“Used to,” Yoosung says between mouthfuls of burger. He’s eating almost frantically, like he hasn’t eaten all day. Considering he saw Yoosung here in the morning and again now, just slightly past dinnertime, it makes sense. He could easily have been here all day, and it doesn’t look like Yoosung had the foresight to bring a meal. 

“She asked me if I was still volunteering… I,” Yoosung swallows. “I stopped a while ago. After her… death.” Yoosung grimaces as he says the word. “I didn’t have it in me anymore.” Seven watches as Yoosung looks like he’s about to continue speaking, as ideas sparkle behind those eyes of his, but he suppresses them. They still are barely acquaintances, after all.   
“What do you want to ask?” It’s half a demand. Yoosung sputters and coughs on his burger. Seven slides him the rest of the bottle of Ph.D. Pepper he was drinking. Everything tastes acerbic, like it had been laced with vinegar before it passed it lips. 

“Who’s, uh,” Yoosung swallows. “Who do you know in here?” 

Seven decides whether he should tell the truth or an elaborate lie. He closes his eyes, pushing his glasses up so he can rub them wearily. He could say Saeran is his… cousin? His father? His cat’s previous owner? Honestly, nothing even sounded quite as outlandish as his long-lost twin brother. 

It pains him, but Seven opts for the truth. The police apparently already know, and once he gets hold of V, he hopes this mess is sorted out. 

“My brother,” Seven admits. There’s a certain relief that comes with voicing the truth to someone. 

“Oh, Seven.” Yoosung sets the burger down. Seven can hear something in his tone; a small twang, a hint of a sniffle, and already he’s got his phone out; mental armor in case someone tries to hug him or pity him. He doesn’t want anyone sympathizing with him, especially when the situation is almost entirely his fault.

Once again, Seven is tormented by the guilt of his actions. If he hadn’t left Saeran, if he hadn’t listened to V, maybe none of this would’ve ever happened.

“It’s fine,” Seven says harshly.

Or maybe, their mother might have actually gone through with her repeated threats to kill them. 

Maybe this is the only way the Chois can get by; battered and broken and  _ breathing.  _ Still very much alive and clinging to the precocious idea that they could escape hell and be happy together. 

“No, Seven, that’s-” Yoosung’s still sniffling. When Seven glances up momentarily, there’s a frown on his companion’s face and sympathy swimming in those eyes of his. “That’s awful. That’s worse than losing a cousin! That’s-” 

“Yoosung, it’s-”

“That must really suck.” It isn’t the most eloquent thing anyone has ever said, yet it causes Seven to look up from his phone in surprise. Isn’t this what he wanted? Someone to care enough to look at him like Yoosung currently is looking right now; lip quivering, eyes wide, and finger scratching his arm like he’s fighting the itch to reach out and touch Seven, a person he barely knows. 

Seven gawks, jaw slackened as he sets his phone down on the table. Then, he coughs, trying to compose himself somewhat as he blinks back the emotion he’s feeling. It’s pathetic that something as simple as empathy, that understanding his situation might indeed suck, is eliciting such a reaction within him, but here it is. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep.

Seven uses the sleeves of his sweater to wipe his face. Yoosung stands from his seat across from Seven and relocates to the empty chair beside him. The next moment he feels a comforting hand on his shoulder. It’s electrifying in the most foreign way. Seven considers how bold this is of Yoosung; he’s never met anyone quite so empathetic. 

Seven looks over, gives Yoosung a smile he’s sure is more grimace than anything, and Yoosung smiles back. It’s the same radiant one he saw captured in pictures posted on Facebook. 

“Yeah,” Seven agrees, voice low. “It does suck.”

It isn’t profound, but no amount of fancy words can illustrate the sheer comfort one small touch can grant. 

*** 

Seven wasn’t able to pry information from Yoosung like he intended to. Instead, they finished their shared meal together in the cafeteria, sun setting through the windows outside and casting the floor in a golden wash. It catches the tips of Yoosung’s hair as he speaks, pronounces those black hair clips as he animatedly talks about his recent LOLOL conquest. Seven isn’t even sure how they got to this discussion, but he appreciated the distraction from his real life. 

“Okay, okay, you’re good,” Seven concedes, hearing Yoosung blather on about his recent conquest in LOLOL. “But you aren’t  _ that _ good. I recognize your username.”

“You do?!” Yoosung leans forward eagerly, elated someone knows of his virtual greatness.

“Yeah, it’s literally your name plus a superhero. Lame.” Seven creates a zero with his finger. 

“Hey! Not fair! What’s your username?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I should tell you.” 

“What? Why not?”

“‘Cuz you’ll hate me forever.”

“Yeah right! You probably suck. Just some noob who’s pretending,” Yoosung sits back in his chair and defiantly crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Nuh-uh, that won’t work on me.”

“What won’t?”

“Reverse psychology! You suck at eavesdropping and at manipulation.” 

Yoosung groans in frustration. Seven basks in the feeling of this natural back and forth, this weird chemistry that allows him to have engaging conversations with an acquaintance. Is this what it’s like to make friends? All the conversation’s Seven’s had before had been with his brother, with V, with Vandy... or when he was younger, and deep conversations consisted of which car colour he liked the most. 

“Seven, you jerk! Just tell me.”

“Not ‘till you’ve earned it.”

“How can I earn it?”

“Huh, how can you…” Seven taps his lip with his index finger, then shrugs his shoulders,. 

“Seven!”

“Guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Wanna play when I get home? I just gotta visit Rika a bit more, and-” 

Cell phone ring tones aren’t that loud normally, but inside the empty cafeteria, it echoes in the space like a supersonic wave. Yoosung fishes his phone out of his pants pocket, a perplexed look on his face. That expression melts into fear and surprise as all lightness in the air sinks to the hospital floor.

“What?” 

“It’s V.”

“What?!”

Seven practically jumps from his chair. For the second time since he’s met Yoosung, he’s considering ripping the phone from his hands. Instead, he sits patiently, hands clenched in a fist beneath his sweater. One glance at the phone shows it’s the same number Yoosung had given him days previously. Seven hadn’t worked up the nerve to call it, yet, afraid of what he might find.

Now, he’s forcibly presented with this situation. All of his training melts away with his coherent thoughts as the edges of his vision blur with panic or anxiety - most likely a cocktail mixed with both. He stares at Yoosung as one finger swipes right and answers the call. 

“V?” his voice is mixed with trepidation as he makes direct eye contact with Seven. 

“Yoosung? It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Yoosung’s tone turns darker. It isn’t a tone Seven’s heard from him before.

“How are you?” 

“V, what’s going on? What happened to Rika?.” Straight to the point. Seven remembers Yoosung doing this to him in the hospital chapel two days ago. 

“It’s… Yoosung, it’s very compli-”

“She seems normal to me, but I’ve seen her talk to other people! She gets scary.”

That causes pause from V.

“Scary how?”

“Like, her eyes go dark and she starts to talk about the sadness in their aura. I had to tap her shoulder to get her to stop. What happened?”

“Yoosung, listen to me.”

“I am, but I’m done just hearing excuses! She won’t tell me what’s up. There’s some police officers saying there’s an investigation, and my friend’s brother is here, too!”

Oh shit. No, no, no, Yoosung, shut up... yet, he continues.

“What’s this about a cult? Did Rika get abducted?”

“N-not entirely, Yoosung. Just listen.”

“I want the truth this time!” 

“Please, hear my words.” There’s a pause, as if V expects Yoosung to bulldoze over his words. Yoosung’s silent, though, jaw clenched and eyes hard as he stares at the floor like he’s about to shoot lasers at it. “She’s different than the other cult members… have you noticed?”

“M-maybe,” even Seven can tell Yoosung’s lying. “But that’s just ‘cuz they kidnapped her and she didn't listen to them?” It’s posed as a question as opposed to a statement. 

“Ask your friend about their brother.”

What is V playing at? Yoosung lowers the phone. 

“Seven, what was your brother like?”

There’s a pause as Seven considers if this is truly happening or not. 

“He’s…” Seven’s mouth is beyond parched. His lips are sticking to his front teeth. He swipes his tongue along them to distribute some moistness, but it’s ineffective. “...different,” he finishes lamely. 

What exactly is V getting at?

“The police are conducting an investigation. She’s probably going to go to court. You might be called as a witness.”

“A witness to what?!”

“To her. Her fake suicide and… who she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of dialogue in this chapter... 
> 
> Anyway, next update may take a bit because V route destroyed me.


	7. Chapter 7

Do you know those moments where the world feels encased in ice? Not so much cold, but more like everything is moving at a snail’s pace around you, because no matter what you do, the outcome will be the same. Seven assumes that for most people, this would be the moment you see a loved one pass away. Or if this was a movie, it’d be like in those spy movies, where the gun is fired in extremely slow motion. It’s like these moments were meant to reflect the injustice of the situation; that time has extended just to torment it’s helpless audience. There was nothing Seven could do to remedy this situation and he knew it

This was one of those times. A slow, stretched out like slot in his life. He’d almost cried earlier in front of Yoosung, and that thought embarrassed him to no end; but now, here Yoosung was, yelling into his phone.

“You should have tried harder to save her! You should have gone after her until the end! Why are you like this? Why are you so hopeless, V?!”

Those words, his tone of voice, the hurt in his eyes - they’re all encased in crystal, like Seven’s watching the spectacle from a seat in the audience instead of being an active participant on the stage. The world has a plastic quality to it, glossy around the edges.

Yoosung didn’t look dangerous; hell, if Seven was being honest, Yoosung was actually really cute. He looked cute, harmless, and, for the most part, docile, but also fierce and unrelenting, in a work-hard-and-everything-will-go-your-way kind of way. Except now, Seven finds that he can’t take the weight of Yoosung’s voice, can’t handle how vulnerable and emotional he sounds. It’s too real. It’s too much a reminder of Saeran.

Yoosung touched him when he was sad, but Seven doesn’t have the courage to reach out and touch Yoosung’s shoulder, or hold his hand. So, instead, he just stares at Yoosung’s hand, quivering in his lap as he grips the curve of his knee. It hurts Seven’s heart to see such a small display of sadness, because he’s still raw from everything that’s happened in his life.

Seven wonders if this is his moment to make a real connection with another human being. Maybe he can comfort his new acquaintance, graduate into a full fledged friendship, and...

God, why is he being so selfish right now? Yoosung’s outright sobbing. He’s hung up the phone sometime between when Seven heard his words last and now; he might have been speaking in the interim, who knows. Seven surely doesn’t, because his eyes are glued to Yoosung’s fingers.

“S-seven… you - you - I…” then he’s trailed off again. His face is flushed and his cheeks red with shame. Seven isn’t sure if he should speak. Has Yoosung given him an opening? He doesn’t know what to do, so he hesitantly trails his eyes up Yoosung’s torso, shoulders, neck, and reluctantly to his face. He should be controlling his own emotions better than this, but he’s dumbstruck. What can he do to soothe a person?

“You don’t need to stay,” Yoosung finally gets out, forcing himself to breathe deep. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t look fine,” Seven responds instantly. Saying those words didn’t even cross his mind; they just tumbled out of him, as if on instinct.

“I just… everything’s so m-messed up and I don’t know what to think.”

“Me either,” Seven confesses.

“H-how did you deal with it? I mean, Ri - she’s my cousin and I’m having a hard time, but… if something happened to my sister… it’s totally different. It isn’t the same as other family.”

“Not dealing with it well…” Before he knows it, Seven’s on his feet. He feels like a mouse caught in a cat’s lair, itching to skitter away and hide in the walls. Talking about feelings isn’t his forte.

V said - what the fuck did V say? This is going to court? Shit, shit, shit. Is Saeran involved? They already know he and Seven are related. The agency is going to discover one of their underlings is involved with family again and target them. Strapped down to a hospital bed, even in a secure ward… Saeran would be a sitting duck.

These ideas and thoughts spin their wheels in Seven’s mind. If he allows it, this train of thought could surpass highway speeds. Actually, not even just highway speeds, could go as fast as a rocket. Rocket… would be so awesome to just fly off into space right now, far away from everything.

No, okay… dammit, Seven needs to focus. He pulls out his phone to check his correspondence. No emails.

Except the one from V he received a few days past. One stupid, fucking email that sent him to this hospital.

To: Agent 707  
From: Agent 05  
Subject: FWD: FWD: FWD: FWD: Great screensaver!  
SKY University Hospital. Third floor.  
I’ve taken the steps to ensure he isn’t responsible.  
-V  
  
That has to mean that Saeran isn’t guilty of anything, right? That has to mean that V protected Saeran? That means that V is still trustworthy? Seven’s sinking his nails into this idea. If he was wrong about trusting his brother’s safety to V, then everything he has worked for these past ten years has been for naught.

That can’t happen. The only thing that’s kept Seven going these years was the assurance that his brother was safe, that one of them could live normally.

Seven isn’t ready to admit to himself that V isn’t as perfect as he believes him to be. Parental figures are nonexistent in the life of isolation he’s chosen, and V… V’s wisdom has always felt like it came from somewhere in the aether, because it surely couldn’t belong to someone as young as him. If Seven believed in reincarnation, he’d believe that V has lived multiple lives, and has pulled on that repertoire of wisdom from experience to have the perfect advice each time.

Like when Seven first became an agent.

***

“Is this really the right thing to do? Am I making the right choice?” Saeyoung hadn’t even left home for long. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, trying to act more composed than he feels inside. His teeth were clattering with the chill creeping up his spine and his skin felt alive in the worst possible way, like someone’s tickled him for too long and the feeling had graduated from fun to searing hot pain.

His hand was tucked into Jihyun’s. If the older man could feel the way he trembled, he chose not to say anything as they calmly entered his car. He’s already explained the initiation process to Saeyoung, who’d barely heard a word of it and just nodded along when V’s incoherent murmurs ceased, feeling like a windup toy.

They entered the car silently. Saeyoung climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt as he waited with trepidation for Jihyun to drive them to the city outskirts. His hand felt cold without someone to hold it. Only hours previously, he was holding Saeran’s hand; not even Jihyun’s hand was warm in the same way, but…  with no one else to hold his hand, Saeyoung had never felt more alone.

Loneliness was a sinking feeling; he hated the empty uneasiness he felt, like the fear before ripping off a bandaid. It’s the knowledge that it’s going to hurt that keeps Saeyoung second guessing his decision.  

“I’ve asked myself the very same, you know,” Jihyun said, as soon as they’ve left the city and turned onto the highway, about twenty minutes after Saeyoung began stewing in his own thoughts. It’s late at night. Saeyoung had to sneak out while Saeran was asleep, but not before brushing red hair from his brother’s face and planting a small kiss on the bruise blossoming his cheek, whispering a silent promising prayer that he’d do his best for both of them.

“Did you regret it?” Saeyoung pulled his knees onto the seat and wrapped his arms around them. It would be years before he learned to grip the cross around his neck instead.

“To err is human. Know who said that?” Jihyun  always spoke in clues, as if Saeyoung had to piece together his own meaning from his words.  
  
“No.”

“Alexander Pope.”

Saeyoung didn’t respond. There’s really nothing he could say to that. He isn’t worldly or educated like Jihyun. Knowing the words of some… some person wouldn’t help his current scenario.

“It doesn’t matter who wrote it. It’s the words,” Jihyun explained.

“Okay. What do they mean?” Saeyoung couldn’t fathom understanding.

“It means… mistakes are part of growing up.”

“Have you made mistakes?”

“Of course.”

“Was joining the agency a mistake?”

That caused Jihyun to pause. It’s dark on this lonely stretch of highway, with their only company some empty phrases and a scratchy sounding radio transmission. A gas station closes in, a fleeting sign of civilization. Briefly, a thought crossed Saeyoung’s mind that this was the last chance he had to call it off, to tell Jihyun to take him back home to his brother, to continue their lives. The thought lived as the gas station came into view, then died when Jihyun passed it without slowing.

Saeyoung sighed, watching it become smaller in the sideview mirror before looking back at Jihyun. He still hadn’t received an answer to his question. The street lamps illuminated Jihyun’s features as they passed, and Saeyoung caught a hard look in those mint eyes.

“Regret is wasted time,” Jihyun responded, finally.

“Oh.”

“You just need to push forward.”

That was not the comfort that Saeyoung had been searching for. He bites back his urge to cry by chewing the inside of his cheek, distracting himself from his emotional pain with physical.

“You’re going to keep us safe, right? Saeran and me?”

“Yeah.”

Jihyun had repeated this answer over and over; almost as often as Saeyoung’s asked the question. He didn’t expect the answer to change. He just wanted the rush of reassurance to stamp out some of the butterflies flapping around in his stomach. Jihyun never became annoyed, though. He always patiently answered the question.

Everything about Jihyun exuded parental authority. Saeyoung was desperate to trust that someone had his and Saeran’s best interests at heart. It wasn’t like his biological family did. It wasn’t like anyone had tried to save them before.

No, the world was content to let the twins rot in their derelict home along with their alcoholic mother, whose spending habits consisted almost entirely of alcohol and the occasional microwavable meal.

“Did you ever spend time with your parents?” Saeyoung ventured. He knew nothing about Jihyun’s past before Rika. It seemed like neither of them enjoyed talking about their families. Perhaps they came from the same type of troubled past. Saeyoung wanted to uncover that.

“Not enough,” and that was all that was offered.

“Oh.”

Silence.

“You and Rika are the only adults I trust.” Saeyoung’s just talking now to fill the yawning canyon between them.

“We’re honoured.” What was that supposed to mean?

“You take care of us…” Saeyoung stared out the window. “You gave us food, and… I wish Saeran could’ve met you with me. He’s going to be so scared tomorrow.”

“It’s okay. I’ll keep him safe.” In that low, soothing voice of Jihyun’s, Saeyoung wanted to believe it.

“Why?”

“Huh?” Seven blurted out, the softness of Jihyun’s words only spiking his suspicion. He shouldn’t be suspicious of Jihyun or Rika, who have earned his trust by this point through weekly mass and church gatherings, with food and affection and worry over his well-being.

“Why save us?”

“Because you’re lost.” Every word Jihyun spoke felt like the foundations of a spell, the building blocks towards the magic.

“Why even care about some kids you don’t know?” It didn’t make sense, and Saeyoung couldn’t give up the idea. He could have focused on how he was giving up his life and identity for the idea that Saeran would be safe, but anytime his mind went there, he found prison bars. If he let his thoughts wander to where his anxieties lie, he’d never escape.

A chill passed through him and Saeyoung reached over to fiddle with the heat of the car.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” his companion responded helplessly.

Saeyoung wasn’t entirely sure, either. Perhaps that was why he kept digging.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice quivering.

“I’ll be with you. Every step of the way.”

Saeyoung felt his worries assured somewhat. Just like warm water poured over ice; effective, but not enough to get to the heart of the problem.

“Really?”

“Yes, you won’t be alone.” Another building block; another line of the spell weaved.

“Do you want to be my Dad?”

***

Yoosung comes to the hospital wing daily. He has the foresight now to bring lunches with him. Most days, they spend their time apart, visiting their respective family. However, it isn’t a large unit, and bumping into one another is inevitable. Seven would rather have avoided it.

There was something special about Yoosung, about that casual connection between them that Seven clung to like it was the rarest of loots. If this were an MMO, he would’ve checked the drop rates, because there’s no way something this rare could have spawned where Seven existed.  

His thoughts were of Yoosung when he entered the unit and even when he was with Saeran. It wasn’t all consuming, which would have been simpler to deal with. No, it manifested in quick fleeting thoughts; wondering if they’d bump into each other, or if that tuft of blonde hair passing Saeran’s door was him.

An encounter truly happens between them when Seven momentarily leaves Saeran alone to get a styrofoam cup of ice. Seven’s heart seizes when he turns away from the sink and realization dawns on him that this particular blonde wasn’t some stranger. It was bound to happen eventually, yet it always seems to happen when Seven was not expecting it. When he hadn’t seen Yoosung for several days, the need to tiptoe around like a thief in a prison district waned. School was probably starting again and Yoosung had less time to dedicate.

Yoosung doesn’t avoid eye contact, so Seven has the opportunity to put his training to use, to read Yoosung’s emotions like script on a computer monitor. If only it were as simple to decipher.  

Yoosung looks ashamed and emotionally chafed.  Who wouldn’t be? The last thing Seven had even said to him was some half-created excuse that dribbled into nothing as he trailed off his sentence and practically sprinted out of the cafeteria. Seven didn’t even have the mental faculty to create an excuse, he was that dumbstruck by V’s phone call.

Yoosung’s purple eyes are dark. They’re both staring at each other, words dissolving into nothing as they are held hostage by the moment. Despite this, Seven can’t help but think that Yoosung has nice eyes. They’re big and expressive; the one time he got to see a smile, it was dazzling.

Maybe if they had met under normal circumstances, they could have had a real friendship that wasn’t tied to their personal misfortune.

“Hey.” Seven surprises himself when he says hello, the words tumbling out of him before Yoosung has the chance to walk away. Yoosung’s also carrying ice water, two cups of it. Presumably for him and Rika. Seven nudges the thought of Rika out of his mind.

“How is everything?” Seven continues, longing to feel the connection that sparked between them before V’s phone call snuffed it out. An entire bucket of water dumped on one, tiny candle.

“How do you think?” Yoosung answers, deadpan.

“Ah, right. Stupid question.”

Yoosung shakes his head.

“Sorry, not feeling great since-”

“Yeah,” Seven agrees, not wanting to relive the phone call.

“Yeah.”

 

The silence is awkward. Seven shies a glance up at Yoosung and then back at the floor, scraping away a smidgen of dirt with the bottom of his shoes.

“So, we didn’t get to play LOLOL,” Seven ventures. He misses the way they spoke with ease. He wanted that feeling again, anything to make him feel less alone and lost. If he had someone to hold onto, then he wouldn’t feel so isolated.

“Not really feeling it anymore.”

“Oh.”

“See you.”

Seven doesn’t even get a chance to say his goodbyes, murmuring them into the silent air as he proceeds back to Saeran’s room. He shouldn’t feel this dejected over losing a potential friend. Emotions are running high on both their ends, and if Seven had enough sleep to think with some clarity, he wouldn’t let such an event bother him.

As it stands, he’s sleep deprived. Not his usual awake due to the restraints of work; sleeping while hacking wasn’t possible. Any minor slip up could mean detection, which could compromise more than his contract. No, this sleepiness is due to the restless sleep he obtains by sleeping awkwardly perched in the plastic chair in Saeran’s hospital room. His trips home since he’s rediscovered Saeran have been infrequent and quick enough for him to shower and change and do little else. Seven’s starting to run out of clean clothing.

It is all worth it, though. All these moments give him more of the time they lost growing up without each other.

His first nap there had been a mistake. Sitting in the plastic chair, leaning over onto the hospital bed with his face pressed into the white blanket draped over Saeran. It smelled of hospital and Saeran combined, and if Seven ignored the sterile smell or convinced himself it was the residue of alcohol lingering in the air, it transported him back to the still nights the twins shared; the nights where their mother had passed out, a small blessing in a cursed existence. It’s fucked up to imagine themselves back in that shitty situation. It was the last time Saeran fully trusted him, though. If anything, Seven wanted to hold onto that trust. He wanted to earn it back.

He closed his eyes for only a moment. Saeran was already asleep, after a sleepless night of tossing and turning due to nightmares. Seven had never seen his brother so fearful and untrusting. It was especially awful when it came time to take his nightly medication.

Seven’s surprised when he awakens from a brief nap to the feeling of someone’s fingers in his hair, pushing the hair back and forth aimlessly; tugging here and there, like a toddler tangling his hands in someone else’s hair. Seven chances a glance up and makes hesitant eye contact with his brother before Saeran shoves his face back into the mattress, flipping over so they didn’t have to make eye contact.

It wasn’t much, but the thought that Saeran touched him willingly made hope swell in Seven’s chest.  

***

Days pass. Conversations with Yoosung become a little less awkward, but they’re still not talking to each other. Not really. Police are in and out of the unit, but aside from standard procedure, they have not approached any patient’s room in particular.

Yoosung looks even more stressed each time he sees the cops and detectives. He straightens his posture and tries not to make eye contact with anyone. Seven assumes this is just a reaction to authority, always feeling guilty for something minor even though they’re not here to see if Yoosung stole bubblegum once as a kid. Seven remembers feeling uncomfortable around the law, and to some extent, he still does… but it’s merely a troublesome throb when the full ache is seeing Saeran, stubbornly mute, each day.

Yoosung always looks a little anticipatory when they pass each other in the hallway, like he expects Seven to say something. Is it not just vanity on Seven’s part to assume that Yoosung’s dejected look is due to him?

Seeing Yoosung on the unit daily has become the norm, yet Seven is downright shocked to find that well-clad businessman again, being escorted to and from patient rooms with the doctor. A doctor was explaining most of the medical issues she had encountered, some hybrid of consumer health and physician rounding. It made Seven feel nauseous when they paused before Saeran’s room, speaking in hushed tones so Saeran could not hear.

Seven heard the murmurings. It caused him to get up from his chair and confront the man. He couldn’t confront V. There were too many fears wrapped up there, but this man was a stranger.

“What’s going on here?” It doesn’t come out as strong as he wants. Seven wants to erupt with anger, become a menacing presence, summon a rage demon to momentarily blind these strangers - these enemies - but life isn’t a video game. High level wizards don’t exist in real life. This was the best he could muster.

The man looks unfazed.

“Ah, Luciel.”

“W-what?” That was not the answer he expected. Seven’s jaw slackens in shock.

“Jihyun told me to expect you.”

“He did what?” The mention of V speeds up Seven’s heart rate, baseline to runner’s high in two seconds flat.

“Yes, he said one of the curators for his art exhibitions family member got wrapped up in all this.” The way he says curator, a slight tone elevation and small tilt of his head suggested that he truly knew who Seven was.

“I, uh... y-yeah, that’s me,” Seven says clumsily, looking down at his jeans and sweater. Art curator. Yeah, right. He doesn’t look half that put together.

“Excuse me,” the man says to the doctor beside him, and she departs. “Allow me to introduce myself. Jumin Han.”

“Jum…” Seven repeats slowly. It finally clicks. That’s why this man looked familiar. “Oh, C&R’s executive director.”

“You know me?”

“Kind of.” Seven would have known him sooner had his brain been working at 100% functionality. The last few days, his processors must have been broken. Ah, how he would love to reboot himself like a robot, reset that RAM and work faster.

“That’s troublesome. Considering your work.”

“What? You mean the good ol’ art business? Gotta…” Seven snaps his fingers, trying to come up with something witty to say. “Gotta… gotta sell those paintings.” Seven was successful, channeling his 707 persona momentarily, but it died quickly when he realizes he knows nothing about art curation.

“Of course. I hear the market is going towards abstract expressionism.”

Seven leans awkwardly in the doorway, wiggling finger guns in the air towards Jumin.

“You got it.”

Jumin looks down the hallway, eyes narrowing, then he brushes past Seven into Saeran’s room.

“I presume you know what’s going on? With your abilities?”

Abilities? Oh. The hacking.

“Kinda,” Seven lies. He hadn’t even considered hacking into the police’s system to read some emails or check the database or something. It wasn’t a priority. Saeran was the priority. Now, Seven’s wondering if that tunnel vision was narrow minded. Maybe some preventative measures could save Saeran the need to get questioned or taken in by the police…?

Jumin is clearly not a man of wasted words, because he crosses his arms across his chest and regards him with distrust. Does he think he got the wrong guy?

“So, you know V?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t believe I’m inclined to tell you that.”

Fuck. Seven isn’t good at this. Jumin seems a lot more mentally resilient than Yoosung. Guess that’s what comes with the territory of sealing business deals. It doesn’t help that Seven’s begun with a disadvantage. He probably looks incompetent to this put together pretty boy.

Jumin pulls out his cellphone, and putters on it.

“I’ve sent an email to you. Why don’t you check it and we can talk after?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and love, guys. I really appreciate reading comments on this work.  
> I understand it's slow going, but next chapter we'll see some development.  
> I'm really excited for these boys to fall in love. ^^ I can't wait till it gets fluffy.


	8. Chapter 8

What the fuck did that mean?

Seven yanks his phone from his pocket, losing his grip on it in his urgency and fumbling to ensure it doesn’t clatter to the hospital floor.  Jumin’s disappeared down the hallway already. Seven isn’t sure how much of their conversation Saeran overheard from behind the curtain. A curtain like this isn’t necessary in a private room, but Saeran’s mental state seems to have improved since they pulled it around. It restricts his line of sight, so he can’t see the edges of the room, and he definitely can’t see the nurses, doctors, and visitors walking by and curiously peeking in.

Most likely, that’s a leftover paranoia from their childhood. Seven doesn’t like large, open spaces either. That’s why he always holed himself up in his small bedroom despite his large apartment. Seven can’t imagine how anxiety inducing it is to have strangers walk into his room every hour to check his vitals and ask him how he’s feeling by holding up a chart with several different faces depicting the transition from a smile to a frown.

Saeran never chooses a smiley face, but since he’s been given anti-anxiety medication as needed, his face choices have drifted closer to the middle of the spectrum between frowns and smiles. Small progress.

Seven wonders momentarily about Yoosung; where he is, if he’s on the unit today, if he’s had the pleasure of meeting Jumin Han. Then, he wonders why the heck he’s even thinking about Yoosung when he has more pressing matters. Out of all the unit’s regulars, he had to have a connection with the cute blonde.

You know what? Maybe this is all a fucking prank. His life since he got this email has felt surreal enough that a lucid dream isn’t a far stretch.

He unlocks his phone and opens his email, frowning when he see’s that it’s not from a corporate address, just some shitty Bmail account. There’s no subject and no body of the email, just an attachment. The file extension tells Seven that this is a key. Why would he be sent a decryption key? That doesn’t make any…

Oh.

Wait. No?  

He already decrypted V’s message. What possible need would he have for this key now? In fact, this makes even less sense, because if he’d truly needed this key to decrypt the message, he wouldn’t be here, right now, in this hospital wing. He wouldn’t be able to meet Jumin Han, and he wouldn’t-

Gah! Too many thoughts. This doesn’t make sense, so for now Seven downloads the file onto his phone. It’s a decision made in haste. He’d usually wait so he could check it out somewhere safer. He has safety measures in place, though. If his phone is compromised, he’ll know. Seven’s designed it to glow red if there’s an issue.

He’ll just plug this key into the decryption wizard along with the encrypted email.

In all honesty, Seven expects there to be no difference in the content, though. He’s a master hacker, who’s pursued relentlessly by other hackers, who are just jealous of his skill; it’s in no way connected to the kitty animations he added to their code. He has to indulge his curiosity, however. It’s not like he memorized the key the wizard originally generated for him.

Hmmm. If he had…. he’d be able to tell if this key’s code was the same, no need to even use the key.

It takes moments to decrypt the message. Immediately, he can see the layout of the body is different.

The words aren’t the same.

His heart freezes and his eyes glance over the words, but his mind isn’t comprehending them because he’s more amazed by the double encryption.

How did V do that? Can messages be decrypted more than once? He hadn’t ever tried. Seven was always better at computers, too. How did he not know to do this? Was it just a matter of not thinking to do it?

Seven exits out of the email and checks the original. Wow, he’s a fucking idiot. The body of the encryption is too large to be one message. Fuck. He hadn’t even thought of that before. Encryption tends to bolster things, make a small rock appear a boulder, but he didn’t think...

He curses under his breath and goes to open up the second decryption.

“Seven?” a small, soft voice calls. Seven locks his phone and pockets it, suddenly paranoid someone will read some classified intel. He blinks, stunned by the blonde hair he sees in the doorway.

“Yoosung?”

Yoosung’s been sniffling. He isn’t full out crying, but he looks in utter pain, like an abandoned bird chirping for its absent mother.

“What happened?” The response spills from Seven’s mouth.

A small breeze stirred up by the hospital’s ventilation ruffles the curtain behind him, reminding him that Saeran’s behind it, and that he can hear everything. Seven turns around, unsure of what to do. He looks behind him, looks back at Yoosung, considers himself, then pushes Yoosung out into the hallway. “One sec, okay?” Without waiting for a response, he goes behind the curtain.

“Saeran, I’m going to be in the hallway. I’m not leaving. I’ll be back,” Seven says, even though he doesn’t expect a response. Saeran’s still staring out the window, his only hobby of late. He isn’t strapped down anymore. He hasn’t had any more major incidents, yet. The ‘yet’ chimes in his mind. More of a reminder that he can’t be the absent brother he was for all these years, but it’s proving difficult to be with Saeran 24/7. Even the nursing staff have been encouraging him to go home.

Saeran doesn’t respond, as expected. Seven considers touching Saeran’s hand, or kissing him on the cheek, or showing some type of brotherly affection. He stands awkwardly at a loss for what to do and thus paralyzed by indecisiveness. He decides to blow him a kiss from where he’s standing at the end of the bed.

“I love you.”

Non-responses have become common, yet the sting never lessens. Seven exits the room.

“Yoosung, what happened?” Did Yoosung meet Jumin Han? Did he say something upsetting?

“R… she… S-seven.”

Their last  real interaction was awkward, and emotional in a dark and dangerous way. Yoosung was practically erupting with anger, yelling at V on the phone. Now, it seems his feelings have flipped, because he looks small and lost. This type of feeling is relatable, and once again, Seven hears the chime of his soul resonate with Yoosung’s, like a broken grandfather clock, only resounding when it wishes.

Where he couldn’t find the courage to comfort before, something clicks inside Seven and his desire to comfort Yoosung overrides his touch-starved nature. When his arm moves, it isn’t being tugged robotically by his brain, fueled by the knowledge that he should do something; it’s smooth and natural as his fingers brush against Yoosung’s arm.

If he was bolder, he’d touch his cheek, or his shoulder - but as it stands, Seven’s in awe of the miracle that pushed him to touch another person without the gnawing anxiety telling him he’s somehow messing everything up. Yoosung takes this opening to crumble into Seven’s arms, face nuzzling into his shirt. Seven’s first thought isn’t one of disgust, isn’t an inherent need to get this person off of him like he would have imagined it  to be. In fact, his first thought is that he must smell gross as hell, and he hopes Yoosung can’t tell.

Yoosung doesn’t seem to notice between sniffles. It’s a soft type of whimper that sounds uncannily like defeat.

Seven wants to squeeze the information out of Yoosung, wring every last drop of relevant knowledge out of this display of weakness. It’s what he would have done in any other situation. During the rare times he’s sent in to extract information from a person directly, his targets have often cried when they discovered who he was and why he had come. It wasn’t as if he was a harbinger of death; he never killed them, but social ruin was sometimes worse.

People on the brink of destruction always spilled their souls. It bored Seven, because he didn’t have time for social niceties when he infiltrated for a specific mission. He doesn’t anticipate being bored by Yoosung, though.

Seven wants Yoosung to spill his soul, but he wants to also give Yoosung the time to choose when to spill everything. For some reason, he’s sure Yoosung’s sadness wouldn't bore him. Maybe it’s because they’re in the same tragic situation, or maybe because Yoosung always says everything Seven is feeling, everything Seven wishes he could express to the world. It’s like Yoosung’s an emotional sponge, full to bursting and eking out feelings enough for the both of them.

Seven hesitantly wraps his arms around Yoosung’s shoulders, rubs stiffly, and hopes to God that Yoosung can’t read into his tense body language.

“Th-the… she’s different.”

Seven dips his head, so his mouth is close enough to Yoosung’s ear that he can whisper. He doesn’t want anyone overhearing their conversation.

“Rika? How is she different?”

“She… she told me she didn’t expect anyone to understand her darkness. That she was born to be hated and blamed. I tried to tell her that wasn’t it - that she helped me so much, and when she left I had nothing, but… but she just told me to stop being so hopeless _._ That I should pay attention to what the police say and stay bright.”

“Does that mean anything to you?” Seven can’t shake his second instincts, the ones that were bred into him when he became a hacker. Do Rika’s words mean more? Is there a message in there?

“N-no, I don’t think so... has… have you heard anything like that from-”

“No.” Seven cuts Yoosung off, not wanting him to finish the thought. “No, he won’t say anything to me.”

“He… won’t? He won’t talk at all?” Yoosung seems baffled by this.

“He hasn’t said anything to me since... well, probably since I got here. He said one thing, once, when I bought him a butter tart. It wasn’t even a sentence, it was one word. More.”

Frozen hearts don’t ache. It’s only when Seven’s heart is warmed by Yoosung’s concern for him that he remembers how painful it is living with a heart of ice. It’s exacerbated further by the way Yoosung tangles his fingers in Seven’s shirt, and the barely noticeable fruity scent clinging to his hair. It’s painful being alone. Even moreso when Seven understands he isn’t worthy of  companionship.

“I don’t know what’s worse. Talking or not,” Yoosung says incredulously, a humorless laugh escaping with his words.

“I wish I knew. Even if he said fucked up things… I want to ask him what happened.”

“Rika won’t answer.”

“Really? You just said-”

  
“Not about that. She talks, but when I ask about the cult she just mentions paradise, and …”

“And?”

  
“Mint Eye.”

Should Seven recognize that name? It means nothing to him. Yoosung barely speaks above a whisper. Maybe he’s learning how to be subtle, after all.  The only people on this unit beside the nurses are the authorities. Seven’s thankful Yoosung manages to lower his tone despite the sniffling.  But that also begs another question: are the cops not aware of this Mint Eye?

As reluctant as Seven is to leave the first genuine hug he’s gotten in years, he pulls back, accidentally stumbling into the wall behind him. He presses flush against it and holds Yoosung by the shoulders, forcing him to make eye contact.

“Mint Eye?”

“Yeah. I dunno what it means.”

“Have you heard anything about what V said?”

Yoosung shakes his head. Seven watches closely for any momentary break in character. At this point, Seven wants to abandon suspicions toward Yoosung and just let someone get close, but he can’t, because the minute he drops his guard is when he’s lost.

“No one else is talking about court…”

That means that V probably knows something Yoosung doesn’t. Maybe it’s in the police’s emails. Maybe Jumin Han knows. Seven seriously needs to do some digging.

“V lies all the time, right?” Yoosung chirps in when Seven doesn’t say anything. Seven, aware that he’s staring daggers into the air, looks over at Yoosung. “Right?” He’s begging Seven for reassurance.

No.

“Yeah.”

V never lies.

“He lies all the time.”

Seven’s surprised his voice doesn’t waver. There’s something about the trust in Yoosung’s eyes, the way he went right to Seven for comfort when they barely even know each other. Seven’s heart sinks, knowing that he lied to the only person he’s ever known who’s barely qualified as his friend.

“Why did you come here?”

“Oh… I thought,” Yoosung looks away. “I thought, uh, you’d understand me. And… I… college is hard.”

“Yeah, duh. It’s college.”

“Yeah, it’s just... “

Seven waits patiently.

“No friends,” Yoosung says, sounding ashamed.

“No friends? With a smile like that?” This type of language doesn’t align perfectly with his 707 persona, but it does have a debonair aura to it. Seven’s proud that he didn’t stutter over his words. He isn’t about to engage Yoosung in a discussion about friendship or anything  - but he can at least try to make him smile.

It works, if only briefly.

“Smile’s aren’t everything.”

Obviously. He hadn’t seen Yoosung smile enough to judge for himself, but he got the sense that a smile was a mask to Yoosung, much like how 707 donned his disguises, both personality and clothing.

“You’re right,” Seven concedes. Smiling doesn’t mean anything if it’s just another performance. As a recluse, Seven never had to smile unless it was a victorious smirk after a particularly difficult string of code.

“Hey, sorry I ignored you before.”

“Oh, when?”

“When you asked about LOLOL… I just - Rika had said I was the same kid she remembered and it made me feel like she thought I hadn’t grown up at all without her. I don’t know... maybe she’s right, maybe I didn’t… nevermind. B-but, I used to think, when I thought she was dead... I used to think, what would Rika say to me now? Would she be happy with the person I became? And now… I know the answer. She’s just going to tell me I’m hopeless and I can’t understand her.” The last line feels final.

“It’s better than her saying nothing to you, right?” It’s not even comfort. It’s the lowest form of conversation. Seven just has absolutely no idea how to respond to that, how to even say something meaningful.

“I guess. I’d probably be begging her to talk, but… wouldn’t it be nice to pretend she hadn’t changed?”

Definitely.

“Probably.”

Yoosung finally moves away completely, Seven’s arms on his shoulders dropping. Yoosung’s no longer sniffling, but he pushes at his nose with the sleeve of his sweater. It’s a little gross, but nothing compared to the disgusting bachelor existence Seven inhabits. He doesn’t judge.

What’s really problematic is that Seven enjoyed that embrace. He crosses his arms over his chest, a self hug if you will, all the while biting back the words on his tongue that ask Yoosung to come close again. God, when did he get so pathetic?

“Hey, so, um, you’re here a lot… don’t you have a job or school?” Yoosung ventures.

“I’m on vacation right now.” No point in lying.

“‘Cuz of him?”

“Just good timing.” It really was.

“I heard from the nurses that you never go home.”

The nurses gossip. Good to know. Seven will need to be more careful in the future. He scratches his cheek and shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly.

“I guess.”

“Seven… that can’t be healthy. Just always being here? Especially when he won’t talk to you… aren’t you sad?”

Unbearably.

“Sure.”

“Do you want to go out somewhere?”

“Maybe?” In all honesty, Seven hadn’t considered it. It was hard getting takeout delivered to a hospital, though. Might be nice to go out and get groceries. There’s a chance he can get something nice for Saeran, too.

“If I asked you out -” Yoosung slams his hands over his mouth, eyes wide. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Seven raises an eyebrow. Well, consider his curiosity piqued. “I meant, if I asked you to go do something with me, would you?”

“Guess you gotta ask to find out,” Seven says. The way Yoosung panicked was too endearing; he wants to draw this out. Everything sucks, but the pink dusting Yoosung’s cheeks melted away those problems momentarily.

“I want... to pretend I don’t exist. Don’t you?”

Was Yoosung trying to be deep? Seven snorts.

“Uh, not a great start to asking me out.”

“Shut up! It’s not like that,” Yoosung whines.

“Uh-huh.”

“I want to see this movie, but… I don’t want to go with my classmates. They don’t really understand what’s going on and I don’t want to explain it. I barely know them anyway… just show up for study sessions sometimes.”

“So, this is where I come in? Save the day?”

“Y-yeah! If you wanted to! The theatre is on campus, so we can just walk over.”

“It’s a date.”

Yoosung sets a time and a date. Two days from when he ‘asked Seven out.’ Seven snickers when he witnesses Yoosung’s blustering at the word date. He said a whole bunch of meaningless words in retort, yet he never denied Seven’s statement. His pale face makes the red darker when framed by light blonde hair. Yoosung shoves Seven, enough to get his frustration across. It was surprising, and it makes Seven want to up the ante. How far can he push this seemingly innocent acquaintance?

Vanderwood did tell him to fuck somebody, after all.

Instead, they exchange phone numbers - Seven provided one of his less used numbers -  and then he immediately sends Yoosung a bunch of heart emojis once they part.

Seven checks his phone as soon as he feels it buzz in his pocket, relieved and excited for a notification that isn’t work. Yoosung responds within a minute with a blushing emoji and some question marks. Isn’t that a good sign? He stares fondly at his phone, thinking that maybe he didn’t completely mess everything up earlier.

“I made a friend,” Seven says softly, showing his phone to Saeran, who looks bored. “Maybe he can be your friend, too.”

***

Seven has two days to completely catch up on the intel he’s neglected. He reluctantly leaves Saeran, hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets as he apologizes to his brother. He knows that Saeran can hear him, because he’s started attending therapy sessions. It hasn’t been much; even the psychologists have said that Saeran doesn’t talk, but he enjoys expressing himself on paper. They’ve created a bargaining system where Saeran gets some paper and markers in exchange for thirty minutes of therapy where he has to answer five questions.

Seven hopes one day his brother will write him a note, or draw him a picture. Anything. Seven would frame whatever he received like an overly enthusiastic mother.

The first thing Seven does when he gets home is order his favourite take out - chicken balls with extra batter, soaked in sweet and sour sauce, the kind with the unnatural orange hue to it. In addition to that, he orders chow mein noodles, extra crispy, and drowns them in the soy sauce packets he’s got stored in his desk drawer from one too many chinese food orders.

Seven imagines that the moment he begins diving into this, he might not have the nerve to eat. Time to enjoy worldly pleasures while his stomach grumblings demand sustenance. Instead of opening WeTube, he opens up Tripter. It’s been days since he’s posted any type of new meme, and his fans seem to have noticed.

Seven spends over thirty minutes perusing the new content and re-trippting some good tripts. Nothing original today. His fans will have to understand for now.

Meal finished and new content seen, it's back to intel gathering.

***

There was a raid at Magenta, a castle hidden in the mountains. It isn’t even visible by satellite, eclipsed by the tree tops. Seven scribbles down the address on the margins of a notepad beside his computer, right beside where he wrote out his Chinese food order so he wouldn’t stutter on the telephone.

He needs to visit Magenta. It’s not officially listed, so there probably won’t be anyone securing the area. Easy infiltration. He needs to find out what happened there that Saeran won’t tell him about.

Seven’s practically ready to leap out of his seat and drive down there now, but according to the map, it’s at least a three hour drive. He can’t waste over six hours away from his computer. He needs to check it out later.

On instinct, Seven opens his email client, scanning for correspondence. Vandy’s been dead silent since they disappeared for vacation. Good. No work to distract him. His eyes glance over the emails from V and the…

Right. The decrypted message. He forgot to check that! Seven double clicks the email, eyes scanning the window that opens up. This time, he’s truly going to read the message instead of skimming it while his mind wanders.

To: Agent 707

From: Agent 05

Subject: FWD: FWD: FWD: FWD: Great screensaver!

Consider him an ally.

-V

Seven could only have received this key from Jumin, so that must mean… trust Jumin Han? The idea sounds ludicrous.

Taking a break from infiltration, Seven searches up C&R’s executive director and skims a few articles. In terms of scandals, no one is reporting on Jumin, unless it’s to read into his sexuality with very baseless photographs. Most scandals existed with Jumin’s father, who seems to hop partners like a fickle bumble bee unsure of where to pollinate. What a contrast compared to his son.

Seven wonders if Jumin truly is gay. He’s already dedicating most of his attention to the cute, easily flustered blonde, or else it might be a real conquest to fuck someone with Jumin’s status.

God. Why is he even thinking about sex at a time like this? It’s been years since Seven even entertained the notion of having a partner. Getting physically close, even with clothes on, feels insurmountable; just imagining something happening without clothes on, skin on skin and lips smacking…

Seven feels absolutely nothing. Is he broken? Has anyone ever made him feel something? Seven wracks his brain for a time that he actually enjoyed sex. That girl during agent training? She was cute, sure, but he was more interested in finding out how she built that sweet laptop of hers.

What about that guy he teamed up with a few years ago for an infiltration meeting? That was just heat of the moment, “we’re probably going to die locked in this prison and I want to know what it’s like to suck dick” sex.

And then there were all the people Seven seduced when he needed information. He may look goofy, but he’s attractive, and he knows how to clean himself up enough. Talking to people might suck, and he might suck at it, but with the right appearance, stumbled words appear endearing rather than pathetic. He played the incompetent rogue role more than once.

Okay, time to broaden the search. Was there any type of physical contact he liked? Definitely. Hugging Saeran, hugging V and Rika as a kid… hugging Yoosung just a few hours ago...

Maybe he’s approaching this all wrong. Seven rearranges himself in his chair, holding his hands in front of him, using his thumb and index finger on both hands to create a square to look through. He zooms in and out by moving his hands, trying to picture in his mind’s eye the answer he’s searching for. Time to imagine kissing Yoosung, to imagine Yoosung desperately grinding on his body as he pants quietly, scared of getting caught by whomever was outside that door. Seven listening to orders as Yoosung directs him on how exactly to give a blowjob. Right there, suck harder, don’t use your teeth, and...

Okay. That’s enough of that. Seven ruffles up his hair roughly, nails scraping against his scalp. He presses his forehead onto the desk in front of him, pressing down the spacebar on the keyboard until his PC dings angrily at an unknown command.

Everything about this is so messy.

Back to the even messier reality.

The investigation that the nurse at the check in station mentioned originally was just the beginning. After Magenta was raided, the police had 48 hours to bring sufficient evidence to open a case. Once a case is opened, there’s a ten day period to meet the criteria to fully qualify for investigation. How long has it been now? Seven counts the days on his fingers, chopsticks between his teeth as he nervously chews the wood. He hopes he doesn’t give himself another lip splinter.

Two since Saeran was discovered… once the investigation ended, then he could visit Saeran freely; Yoosung was also allowed in the unit around that time, too. That makes sense with the timeline. Then… two days until Yoosung and Seven had lunch in the cafeteria. Four days between talking to Yoosung last and when Seven stopped going back home to his apartment. Four more days until Yoosung asked him out, and two days to work on this… god, what does that total? Twelve days?

Shit. His vacation is almost over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and love guys.  
> Next chapter will have more of a yooseven focus <3 can't wait for these boys to fall in love~


	9. Chapter 9

Seven’s sitting with his brother, playing his favourite WeTube videos for Saeran. Saeran really likes watching speedpaints. He doesn’t explicitly say it, yet Seven can tell from the way Saeran sits a little closer during those videos.

Occasionally, Saeran gets so lost in a video that he doesn’t blink and his eyes narrow, like he’s focusing hard on a tiny, minute detail that Seven’s somehow overlooked. Then, when Saeran  remembers where he is, his back straightens and he blinks, as if the entire world is out of focus. His eyes glaze over staring at the screen committing it to memory, then he looks hesitantly over at Seven. He stares in disbelief, mouth parted slightly. What is he thinking about? Seven wishes he knew. He catches those looks out of the corners of his eyes, yet pretends not to notice for Saeran’s sake.

It’s probably the drugs in his system working their way out, making reality blurry around the edges. Seven doesn’t want Saeran to panic again, doesn’t want him to scream, so he chooses not to address it or even speak. If Saeran thinks he’s hallucinating, then it’s best not to confuse him further.

“Hey?”

Yoosung’s soft voice calls from beyond the curtain. Saeran’s head snaps to the noise, to the voice he doesn’t appear to recognize, and his hands twist in the sheets. Seven sets the phone down, video still playing. He turns up the volume and slowly gets out of his seat, standing at the edge between the curtain and the rest of the room, straddling the canyon between his brother and the rest of the world.

“Hey,” Seven whispers. He starts putting a hand to his lips but it doesn’t reach it’s destination. Despite Seven jokingly calling it a date, Yoosung seems to have taken it seriously.  He’s not wearing that teal sweater anymore. In fact, he’s dressed up. A blue button up t-shirt, tucked into the waistband of his brown pants. It’s casual, yet a lot more put together than Seven remembers seeing him before. The hair clips are gone, replaced by a wispier flip to the corners of his hair. Yoosung must have purposefully done his hair just for this event.

“Seven?” Yoosung squeaks out. Seven guiltily trails his eyes back up until he meets Yoosung’s eyes.

“S-sorry.” Smooth. Caught checking him out. If he was being honest, half of it really was due to shock. “Uh, I, um... don’t be too loud, ’cause… Saeran? He’s, um, not good with new people… yet.”

“Oh! That’s fine. Movie’s at six?”

They have about twenty minutes.

“Where is it on campus?”

“Literally the other side.”

“We gotta go now then, huh? For our date?”  One that Seven absolutely didn’t dress up for. Yoosung should consider himself lucky that Seven even showered for this, and it was just because he was hoping the next time Yoosung got close, he wouldn’t smell bad.

The next time Yoosung got close. God, what was he becoming?

Yoosung nods.

“O-okay, hang on.”

Seven goes back to where Saeran is, watching his video in silence. Seven loves the serene look on his brother’s face. Like most moments Seven cherishes, it’s fleeting. Saeran keeps twitching, likely the after effects of the drugs leaving his system making it hard for him to keep still. He obsessively scratches his arm and right shoulder underneath the hospital gown. The skin’s starting to flare up, red and raw and bumpy. Seven wants to stop Saeran from picking at his skin incessantly, but he can’t. There’s a forcefield around Saeran, and it represents their fragile relationship. If he touches his brother, everything might crumble; forgotten butterfly wings, decrepit from years ignored. So instead he watches in despair.

Seven grabs his phone and shuts off the video.

“I have to go, but I’ll let you watch next time I come, okay?”

Saeran shakes his head. The shrug of his shoulders and the way he squeezes his eyes shut in pain tells Seven that this isn’t in direct response to his words. Saeran’s dismissing him like he’s an illusion, and Saeran can’t tell what’s reality and what isn’t. When Saeran opens his eyes, Seven watches green pupils dilate accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. Fear. Then silence; the world too dangerous for breathing. Saeran's eyes watch something ghostly pass by his field of vision. Seven hopes it isn't their mother.

Maybe there’s more than one person talking to him. Maybe that’s why Saeran likes watching WeTube. Maybe he needs this distraction to finally enjoy the silence.

Seven forgets Yoosung’s waiting as he watches his brother slump down into his covers and turns his attention to the device monitoring his blood pressure and heart rate. If it was possible to grant wishes in that moment, Seven would’ve turned that monitor into a television for Saeran to watch. He didn’t need to read anyone’s mind to know that Saeran craves the stimulation.

He’ll have to talk to the nurses about getting a television in the room for him.

Seven pockets his phone and rises to his feet, eyes following the curve of Saeran’s stomach under the thin hospital blanket. It scares him how malnourished he looks; he’s barely gained any weight from when they were young. Saeran’s eating a bit more now. There’s no need to force nutrients into him like they had to do with the other cult members. Part of him wonders if Saeran would do better on a forced diet; maybe he’d gain more weight.

The thought of Saeran with plush cheeks and a small tummy makes him smile, especially when he imagines squeezing those cheeks with his fingers. Seven isn’t a murderer, not by definition, but he’d kill to see his brother smile.

“You really love him, huh?” Yoosung says softly, peeking in from behind the curtain. His features are gentle and welcoming. Seven’s heart does a weird flip caused by his love for his brother and his fondness for this stranger mixing into one feeling.

A stupid thought crosses Seven’s mind. Can this be his new family?

Seven hesitates for a moment, fingers twisting and twirling the cross around his neck. If letting Yoosung in was a bad choice, maybe God will spare him from making two awful choices by divine intervention. He tries to smile, feels the corners of his lips perk up and then twitch, half-pained.

“Yeah…” he whispers hoarsely.

If Saeran notices someone else there, he chooses to ignore it.

***

Seven never looked into how big SKY university was, but judging by its Victorian-esque architecture and its apparent penchant for nature (there are trees planted everywhere, and creeping vines on most buildings), it’s well-funded. It’s almost like this campus is trying to appear whimsical in the face of capitalism; it’s academic nature hiding the fact that it is primarily a for profit venture. Seven can respect a good con when he sees one. Higher education was a waste. Not even his degree taught him everything he needed to know.

In comparison, the campus movie theatre is quaint. It’s hard to find, hidden in the basement of the mall that had everything from a small grocery store and a barber shop to a computer repair store. Really everything a student needs without having to leave campus. In fact, the only clue that there’s a movie theatre underground is the wafting smell of buttery popcorn. The delicious smell assaults Seven from the moment he walks in.

He’s hesitant to follow Yoosung down a rather eerie set of stairs that don’t appear to lead anywhere. He stays two steps behind Yoosung, who seems to have accepted his mannerisms as eccentric. Yoosung explains that this is a small movie theatre, so they usually play older stuff that’s already out of theatres. Licensing agreements or something. But the popcorn is cheap and there’s free refills, so it’s worth it.

“What movie are we seeing anyway, cutie?” the pet name just falls out of Seven’s mouth, half-teasing. From his place on the stairs behind him, he can’t see Yoosung’s reaction, but he can see his shoulder’s straighten.

“Oh, uh, we’re seeing...”

“Sorry, was that -”

“No, no, that’s, uh, that’s fine.” Then a pause, while Yoosung seemingly waits for Seven to speak again. He doesn’t. “We’re seeing Shooting Star Wars. Thought it was relevant, ’cause...”

“Your name?” Seven looked up an abundance of information on Yoosung; he knows what his name stands for.

“Yeah! I can’t believe you knew.” Yoosung jumps the last two steps, landing at the bottom and holding his hand out for Seven. Apparently, knowing this esoteric knowledge about the meaning behind Yoosung’s name is exciting, because Yoosung’s eyes are glittering, and his cheeks are dusted pink, probably from the compliment.

Seven smiles wryly when he see’s Yoosung’s outstretched hand. This boy has no idea, does he? Seven takes a moment to consider whether or not Yoosung is playing into the joke. Their hands touch and Yoosung’s smile falters, turning serious.

Aha, Seven thinks, this is the moment where he says the joke has gone too far.

That moment comes and then passes by with no acknowledgement. Yoosung waits until they’re standing beside each other. He looks over at Seven, towards their barely held together hands, then drops it to point to the small concession stand up ahead.

“It’s over there!”

There’s a small line of other students lined up for concessions and tickets. Seven surveys the area. Wow, there actually is a movie theatre in this musty old basement. Part of him thought that this was all part of a prank, or maybe a set up by another agency - and there he goes again! Because Seven can never trust anyone. This cute blonde, who’s currently bouncing on his heels nervously as they wait in line, must be an agent, since no one could ever see anything desirable in Agent 707.

Seven feels his aura darken. Great. His thoughts are already interfering with his date or his friendship or whatever the fuck this is.

“You okay?” Yoosung asks. He must have noticed Seven glowering at the concession menu. “You don’t like popcorn? We can get gummies.”

“Huh?” Seven scans the menu, analyzing the results like the android he wishes he was, and formulates a response. “Popcorn’s great. What did you want?”

“Well, I like to add flavoured salt to my popcorn.”

“What kind?” Seven questions immediately. This might be make or break. Anything to arbitrarily end this date and call off whatever this fizzy feeling inside him is. It reminds him of the way Ph.D pepper crackles after twisting off the cap.

“Dill pickle…?” Yoosung responds, confusion in his tone.

“You pass.”

“I… uh, what?”

“You pass,” Seven repeats.

“Pass what?”

“The friendship test. Couldn’t even talk to you if you chose some awful flavour like onion or seaweed.”

“Oh... yeah?” Is Seven hearing things, or does Yoosung sound a little disappointed?

They purchase concessions: a bag of popcorn with extra butter, a large pop with two straws (Ph.D. pepper, of course,) a bag of gummy bears and two tickets. Seven nudges Yoosung away with a hip bump when he goes for his wallet, then pays like the gentlemen hacker he is. There’s no way the college kid who can barely afford purchasing food can pay for this, even if it is all at a discounted student rate.

Yoosung’s feathers look a little ruffled, but he takes the popcorn and goes to dump a whole bunch of flavoured salt on it. Seven pockets the gummies and grabs the tickets, holding them in the same hand as he holds the soda. It was probably a bad idea to get only one. This just affirms that it’s a date even more.

There’s no one at the door checking tickets since it’s only one theatre. He shoves the ticket receipts in his pocket with the gummy bears and holds the door open for Yoosung. The theatre is split into two sections: a bottom floor and a top that overhangs. Seven immediately hops up the stairs. He wants to sit up in the higher section. Yoosung follows without complaint, and when they get up there, Seven nudges him with an elbow to chose their seats.

Seven sits with a buffer seat between them, just in case. Yoosung tilts his head, surprised. Seven doesn’t offer an explanation and Yoosung doesn’t outright ask.

“I’m glad you came with me,” Yoosung murmurs. He looks down at the popcorn bag on his lap. Seven sets the soda down in the armrest closest to him.

“Naw, it’s fine,” Seven dismisses. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.”

“Right… um, so… this movie is supposed to be pretty good. It’s part of a series. Have you heard of it?”

“I don’t watch T.V. or movies much.” Seven leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the chair in front of him.

“Oh…” Yoosung pops some of the top layer of popcorn in his mouth. Seven wishes he wasn’t so damn stubborn, because that’s the best part! It has the most butter! Yoosung brushes his greasy fingers off on a napkin instead of licking them like any intelligent person would. Seven stifles his groan.

The silence is still, only cut by the droning fans of the ventilation system pushing air. It's easy to acclimate to and eventually Seven hears nothing but the ringing in his ears.

It’s dark in the movie theatre, ambient lighting allowing only the most minimal of details to be seen. Yoosung tilts his head, pointedly looking at Seven but simultaneously beyond him, and it’s too frustratingly dark to see what he’s thinking.

“You’re sitting kind of far away?”

“Oh, am I?” Seven nervously laughs.

“Don’t you want any popcorn?” he responds in a meek voice, tipping the overflowing bag in Seven’s direction.

He really, really does.

“Yeah… you can just pass me the bag.” Seven’s stubborn and defensive nature won’t allow him respite.

“Oh.” Even in the dim lighting of the theatre, he can see how crestfallen Yoosung looks.

The lights transition to complete darkness and the previews begin, booming sound system drowning their tension and beginning the movie.

***

The movie is interesting for three reasons.

Reason number one.

It’s got a kickass plot. Space battles, fights for supremacy, and evil clearly noted from the beginning. There isn’t any grey area, no morally questionable actions; there’s pure good versus evil, straight down the middle. Seven’s sick of grey space in his life. He wishes everything were that simple.

Reason number two.

Seven’s side was starting to hurt from reaching impossibly far every time he wanted popcorn. Yoosung would not just give him the damn bag and he had no idea why. After one too many times of nudging his ribs until the bone feels sore, he relents and moves closer. At that exact moment, an awesome space explosion happens (he knows it makes no sense scientifically, but he’s still excited,) and he misses most of it because the curve of Yoosung’s lips into a victorious smile catches his attention.

Bastard was using popcorn to get Seven closer. Once again, he’s underestimated how clever this kid was.

Cleverness or not, Seven was not going to lose this battle. His pride suffering the loss of being played so easily, he takes this game one step further by upping the ante and sliding one arm around Yoosung’s shoulders.

Yoosung stiffens and a feeling of pride washes over Seven. Yes, he thinks triumphantly, he’s won. He’s taken it far enough past the joking, no-homo zone that there’s no way Yoosung would be okay with this. Seven understands popular culture, he understands being into men is somehow perceived as shameful, and he fully expects Yoosung to be ashamed.

What he doesn’t expect is for Yoosung to raise the cup holder between them until it’s flush with the seats and completely out of their way. He doesn’t expect Yoosung to nudge closer until their thighs are touching, nor does he expect Yoosung to shove the half-empty bag of popcorn onto Seven’s lap so he can properly snuggle.

Seven’s fairly sure his heart stops when this happens. He grips the popcorn bag loosely with one hand, dumbfounded.

Reason number three.

Seven loves this snuggle. He loves the feeling of Yoosung’s shoulder beneath his hand, the steady rise and fall when Yoosung breathes, the way his breath catches at the romance scenes so Seven can tell how invested Yoosung is in the plot. Seven enjoys the warmth of another person’s body mixing with his own, the steady unmoving feeling of someone pressed against him. He loves the way Yoosung focuses completely on the movie, eyes unwavering as he fishes in the popcorn bag for snacks. Unlike Seven who shoves entire handfuls in his mouth, Yoosung pulls the popcorn out one at a time. The constant shifting isn’t annoying, it’s rhythmic and almost soothing.

Seven’s hand wanders from Yoosung’s shoulder to that blonde hair. He experimentally feels a handful of strands between his thumb and forefinger, like he was touching the petal of a flower. It might as well have been because it was so soft. Yoosung notices too because he experimentally looks up, eyes round underneath dark lashes, and licks his lips.

They had finished their beverage early into the movie, now both of them are parched from salty popcorn and no liquids. Or else, that’s what Seven thought until he saw Yoosung’s eyes dip lower to Seven’s lips.

Seven’s heart seizes painfully at the thought that Yoosung might want to kiss him. He quickly looks away and stiffly returns his hand to Yoosung’s shoulder instead of his hair. He can’t kiss him. They barely know each other, and Seven’s…

Seven’s fucked people, but he’s never kissed someone.  


	10. Chapter 10

Yoosung takes the lead leaving the movie theatre, stretching his arms above him. Seven crumples up the popcorn bag and is promptly scolded by Yoosung who tells him he can get a free refill. Seven can only respond with a lopsided smile, something akin to affection dancing in his chest.

He chooses not to ridicule Yoosung for wanting a popcorn refill.

Once it’s refilled, Seven yanks the bag from the counter before Yoosung can and threatens to dump seaweed flavoured salt all over it; a flavour he himself isn’t fond of. He’s surprised when Yoosung just shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side, daring him to.

Now they’re walking aimlessly around campus, Seven holding onto salted popcorn he doesn’t even like because he wanted to fuck with Yoosung and it backfired.

“Do you live on campus?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I do.” Yoosung points somewhere in the distance. “Kinda on the edges. Sucks when you’re late to class because the buses are so crowded. What about you?”

“Some shitty apartment.” Seven, determined and stubborn, pops a few popcorn kernels into his mouth and grimaces at the taste. It just reminds him too much of the sea. He’s not too into seafood, especially raw fish.

“Why did you dump seaweed salt all over the popcorn?” Yoosung inquires with a small smile.

“I thought you didn’t like seaweed.” And Seven wanted to mess with him.

“I never said I didn’t like seaweed,” Yoosung points out. He stares at the ground, slowing his pace. Seven notices and follows suit. When Yoosung pushes the hair out of his face and looks up at the sky, Seven also mimics the action.

It’s almost 9p.m. and for students, the night is just coming alive. Most of the restaurants on the small campus mall have closed, but the bar and panini stand are open and flooded with people. It looks like Yoosung catches sight of some classmates, rowdy with laughter, because he turns his gaze towards a group of strangers sitting at a picnic table with forgotten books on their laps.

“Must have missed tonight's study session,” he murmurs, kicks at nothing with his shoe, then continues walking, a little faster this time.

“Is that bad?”

“No. I mean, I guess not? It doesn’t matter anyway.” Yoosung quickens the pace more, dragging Seven towards a part of campus he hasn’t been before. Not like that’s unusual. He hasn’t seen much of this campus outside one unit in the hospital. Despite his better judgement, Seven follows this wandering boy, because the sad way Yoosung sounds makes him feel like they can relate to each other. And he very much wants to relate to someone.

“Doesn’t matter?” Seven ventures.

“No friends, remember?”

For a smile, Seven’s never seen anything sadder. He follows until Yoosung has found a spot sufficiently far away from the study session he missed. He presses his back onto a cement ledge, leaning backwards on his elbows, head tipped back, eyes dragged back up to the sky. It probably isn’t comfortable. The edges of the cement are blotchy, as if it bubbled when it solidified, and it’s crawling with little bugs. When Seven brushes against the edge, the cement catches on the fine threads of his sweater. He ignores it as he hauls himself up, setting the popcorn bag beside him.

Seven  feigns detachment, trying to access his 707 persona like a computer would its applications. Sitting a little elevated when Yoosung is standing makes him feel taller, bigger, safer, like he’s somehow above his worldly troubles; as if this cute blonde boy symbolized all his problems in human form. He doubts he’d ever have met someone like Yoosung without this whole hospital problem. Small blessings.

Being up a little higher also gives him a wonderful view of Yoosung’s face as he’s mesmerized by the sky, cloud patterns reflected and glittering in lavender. He could look at the sky, too. He probably should, but he’s never noticed how big Yoosung’s eyes were, how long his eyelashes are. He’s not overly feminine. Yoosung has a prominent jawline, and a visible Adam’s apple. It’s just those eyes; the way he looks at everything like he doesn’t understand, but wants to see the good in it before the bad.

“Do you ever look at the sky and think you’re falling?” Yoosung whispers softly, blinking slowly. He licks his lips again, chapped from salty popcorn. Seven tears his eyes away from Yoosung and looks up at the sky, hands gripping the edges of the ledge. The grit of the cement and dirt feel gross on his palm, and he hopes no tiny bugs skitter onto his fingers. He tries not to think about that as he loses himself in the sky.

It’s too bright on campus to truly see the stars. Seven’s seen much better out on missions. Right now, it’s kind of chilly; the moon is an enchanting bronze half crescent.

Seven doesn’t have a response for Yoosung; at least not in a timely manner, so Yoosung continues speaking.

“I think I’m literally nothing underneath this sky. What am I doing right now? Just looking up at it. Nothing else.”

Wind sweeps between them, rustling their popcorn bag so Seven has to grab it before it tilts over and becomes bug food. Yoosung doesn’t seem to notice.

“The clouds feel like they’re moving so slowly, and time’s moving just as slowly, and... I can’t change anything.”

Seven’s mind immediately jumps to Saeran, how he’s suffering withdrawals at a hospital alone. He’s probably suffered for years without Seven’s knowledge, while Seven clung hopelessly to the idea that he had somehow spared his brother from an awful future. He recalls the way Saeran scratches at his skin, how he looks like he’s in pain all the time. Seven’s eyes burn, and he blinks, the latest gust of wind feeling sharp and cold on his tear stained eyes. He drags the bag of popcorn onto his lap, unsure why he even wants to hold onto something he himself ruined.

“I can’t ever change anything,” Yoosung continues, voice low. “I’m hopeless.”

“Me too.” Seven finally locates his voice, forcing the words out even as they feel like shattered glass in his throat. Expelling it is probably less damaging than swallowing. “I couldn’t do anything.”

“Did V tell you he was dead?”

“No, uh, I thought he was being taken care of… V and Rika…” God, why is he telling Yoosung any of this? Seven shuts his mouth, forces the rest of the metaphorical glass down his throat, and lets it wreak havoc in his stomach, cutting up his insides. No one deserves to hear his story.

“V lied to me, too.” Yoosung seems to have filled in the blanks for himself.

“Are you sure he lied?”

“Yeah, he said Rika was dead!” Yoosung snaps his head away from the sky, teenage defiance burning in his eyes, like he’s used to having to defend Rika in all his conversations. He’s overly defensive about her. Seven guessed he would be, too, if roles were reversed and he had to defend his brother.

He doesn’t want to believe that V lied. He has to research this further. He thinks about Magenta, the castle in the mountains that he has to explore. If he goes there now… Seven will have more time to spend with Saeran tomorrow before his vacation ends. Seven hops down.

“I know,” Seven says raggedly. Seven doesn’t even know how to parse out the information for himself. How can he explain it to Yoosung without mentioning the agency and V’s actual job?

Yoosung must not be used to someone accepting his words so easily, because the anger drains from his voice.

“What are you doing after this?”

When Seven looks over his shoulder, he’s met with big purple eyes, lost and lonely.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he continues in a small voice when he catches sight of Seven fishing for his car keys in his pocket. “Isn’t this a date? Don’t we… walk each other home?”

“Oh, uh, you want that?”

A nod in response. Yoosung stands straight and grabs the popcorn from Seven, their hands brushing together briefly. He pops some salt covered kernels in his mouth. At least one of the two of them like seaweed flavoured popcorn, because it’s completely ruined for Seven now.

“O-okay,” Seven says, scratching the back of his head. “Where’s your home?”

“On campus, remember?”

***

Seven really wants to check on Saeran. Yoosung definitely lives on the other side of campus, judging by the route they’re taking. Halfway through, Seven stops on his path and clumsily tries to explain he needs to get back to Saeran. He expects Yoosung to be pissed that his brother is more important than their so-called date.

Yoosung doesn’t, though. He just smiles, takes Seven’s hand in his confidently, and directs them back towards the hospital on the agreement that he gives Yoosung a ride back to his apartment. Seven doesn’t need to be walked anywhere. If he was lost (which he isn’t,) he’d just use his phone’s GPS to find the hospital.

The walk may have been ten minutes, or may have been thirty. His mind is clouded by the feeling of warmth he’s leeching from Yoosung, like a touch starved incubus getting off on something as innocent as holding hands. He only remembers their destination when he sees glass windows arranged in a square block pattern, a few of them leaking yellow light from patient rooms and offices.

It’s no surprise the hospital hasn’t changed. It’s a mountainous giant that he needs to conquer from the inside out. With Yoosung’s hand in his, though, it feels like he’s finally facing this giant with a weapon in hand. He forgot how comforting it was to hold someone’s hand. Seven wishes he could save his life at this very moment, just so he can reload when things finally go awry.

Seven begins his quest for Saeran’s welfare by checking in with the nursing staff. They seem surprised to see Seven and Yoosung together, even more so when they notice their hands. The warmth had gotten so familiar that he had almost forgotten other people could see. Yoosung shyly moves his hand away, wandering to Rika’s room. It’s probably for the best that they prioritize their family over each other.

It’s only been a few hours. Of course nothing has changed. When he hears that Saeran fell asleep naturally, Seven fingers the cross on his neck and silently thanks God for a good night. When Seven checks on Saeran, his hand is still warm with another person’s body heat. This small comfort corrupts his better judgement and he brushes the white hair from Saeran’s face. The touch transports him to another lifetime. It’s like he’s channeled his original life and the person touching Saeran isn’t Luciel, isn’t Agent 707, isn’t someone marred and sullied by sinful acts. He’s just Saeyoung.

That’s all he ever wanted to be.

Yoosung is waiting dutifully in the hall, popcorn held close to his chest as he munches idly. When he steps out of Saeran’s room, Yoosung tries to smile, and it’s just as pained as Seven’s. Both of them harbor dark, sad realities in these respective rooms. Seven holds out his hand, feeling sentimental and seeking any type of solace. Yoosung looks relieved as he links their fingers together once more. Silent affirmation that they’re supporting each other.

As they exit the unit, one closed door stands out in a stark contrast to the open rooms. The door is plastered with notices reading restricted access and acronyms that must mean something to the nursing staff. To Seven though, they’re just unknown variables.

“What’s happening?” Seven asks. It takes him only moments to discern who occupies said room, based by the burdened expression on Yoosung’s face.

“Investigation, I guess.”

“I thought you said no one mentioned court?”

“No one has! I thought this was normal? Checking out all the cult members?”

No one has done this with Saeran. There must be some additional suspicion around Rika. Seven recalls that fated phone call from V in the hospital’s cafeteria; he recalls V telling Yoosung that Rika was different than the other cult members; he recalls hearing the talkative policeman mention that Rika causes the other members to act more defiantly; and slowly, the gears begin to turn, creaking and groaning and sliding against each other with the faint echo of metal scraping against metal.

Seven didn’t have a chance to read through all of the Mint Eye reports, but he remembers seeing a hierarchy and the word Saviour written at the top.

“Yoosung,” Seven says, voice edging on accusatory. “Does the word Saviour mean anything to you?”

Yoosung frowns, eyebrows creasing. Seven flexes his fingers, he’s sure Yoosung is able to feel it.

“Like, God?”

“No, like a Mint Eye Saviour.”

“Mint Eye being… what? Paradise?”

“No... wait, let me think.” The gears are moving too fast in his mind and he can barely keep up. He stomps out of the unit, leaving Yoosung to trail behind him as he tries not to spill popcorn everywhere. He runs his warmed hand through his red hair, surprised and perplexed that he can’t remember when they stopped holding hands.

Seven pounds the elevator button with his index finger more than once. Then, frustrated the doors don’t open right away, he pushes his way into the stairway and hops down the steps. Yoosung’s almost unable to keep up. The door starts to swing shut behind Seven as he stomps down the stairs. Before it completely closes, Yoosung pushes through, absorbing the momentum of the heavy falling door. It slows him down. Seven only notices between glances as he continues down the steps.

“H-hang on!”

Seven doesn’t stop until he’s at the bottom floor. Magenta, Mint Eye, Paradise, Saviour. There’s an answer within these words, like puzzle pieces with abnormal edges. Seven just needs to see the connections and slot them together. If Rika causes other cult members to act more defiant, doesn’t that suggest that she’s a leader of some sort? If it’s a religious cult, then they likely follow someone faithfully… A ‘Saviour’ could easily be this person.

Now, Seven needs to gather evidence that Rika is no different from the other cult members.

“Yoosung,” Seven says gravely before pushing the door open to the underground parking. The doorknob is damp and the air musty. Yoosung finally catches up, shoes touching down on the bottom step.

“Seven, what the-”

“Rika.”

“Yeah?”

“When…” Seven licks his lips, still parched from lack of water. “When Saeran was admitted,” Seven turns the doorknob slowly. “They told me what drugs were in his system.”

“Saeran?”

“My brother.” Seven had never said his name before in a misguided effort to keep their identities private, but that didn’t feel as important right now.

“O-oh.”

“Well?”

“They wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m not her guardian. Her mom - my aunt - won’t come.”

“Are they giving her methadone?”

“How would I know?”

“It looks like orange juice. They drink it.” It’s used to prevent opioid withdrawal, helping to wean addicts off of their fix without debilitating side effects. Saeran’s on it. Seven’s seen him drink it. Since it’s disguised as a sweet juice, it doesn’t appear to bother Saeran as much.

“N-no. I haven’t seen anything like that.” There should be no reason for Yoosung to lie. He doesn’t even seem to know what Seven’s talking about.

Okay, it isn’t much to go on, but that must mean Rika isn’t having withdrawals.

“Do you notice her shaking or scratching or having trouble sleeping?”

“No. Seven, what is this about?”

Fuck. Ignoring the question completely, Seven throws the door open with all his strength behind it. The door is heavy and doesn’t swing open with the fervor he wants. He steps out.

“Does Magenta mean anything to you?” Seven accuses, composure quickly dissolving as his brain works in overcapacity.

“N-no,” Yoosung says in a small voice. They’re leaving a trail of popcorn behind them, but neither of them seems to care. “Is it related to everything?”

“You said Rika mentioned saving people before, right?”

“Y-yeah, why? Tell me what’s going on.”

“I have to look into something.” Seven dismisses him, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and unlocking the doors. The car beeps in response as they approach it. Seven yanks open the driver side door, paying no heed to the way he’s treating his babe car. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing matters besides discovering the answers to the questions screaming in his head.

“What! W-wait, Seven! Take me with you!” Yoosung begs, tipping a whole bunch of popcorn onto the parking lot ground before he rights the bag.

“No.”

“C’mon. I can’t do anything! I could never do anything! What are you looking into?”

“The cult.” God, why is Seven even answering? He has to go. He doesn’t have time to talk to this liability.

“I want to figure out what’s happening, too! Let me come!” Yoosung begs.  
“How can I? I barely know you! I can’t trust you!”

The truth falls out. Seven resists the urge to clasp his hands over his mouth. He straightens his shoulders and maintains eye contact. He stands by his words, even though taking them back is a tempting thought when he has to stare at Yoosung, who’s currently sporting the most confused and hurt expression Seven’s ever seen. Yoosung looks completely blindsided.

“W-what? But we-”

“What? Cuddled? Held hands?”

Silence. Seven’s already gone this far.

“That doesn’t mean I know you!”

This is the part where Yoosung slinks away, defeated, to sulk in his own private corner of the world. This is where the scene is going, these are the steps Seven expects. He’s taken aback when Yoosung steps closer, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“You think I’m lying?” Yoosung matches Seven’s ferocity with his own, hurt leaking into his voice and clinging to his words. “You know tons about me, but all I know is your name! You won’t tell me anything!”  
He’s right.

“You’re trying to get close to me for information,” Seven deflects. It only appears to make Yoosung more frustrated.

“Are you serious? I told you I have no friends! I thought we could understand each other!”

“Me, too.” That’s why Seven held his hand. Seven falters as something akin to guilt washes over him. He had intended to leave tonight, but he might be able to go tomorrow. Or… midnight. Depends how long it takes him to conduct a full background search on Yoosung.

Once again, Yoosung has managed to surprise Seven, the person who thought he has seen all of what humanity has to offer. He’s never met someone with such bravery, even if it’s misplaced.

“Y-you... want to come?”

“God, yes! Please?” Yoosung practically throws up in his arms in exasperation.

“It might not be safe for… someone like you.”

“What? And it’s safe for you? You’re no different than me!”

Yoosung’s so wrong, but Seven can’t tell him that, so instead he resets his parameters, allows the AI that controls his brain to make a bad decision.

“Give me a few hours. I’ll... I’ll message you.”   
***

True to his word, Seven drops Yoosung off at his apartment. It’s somewhat unceremonious, as his mind is too occupied to hold a conversation. Yoosung watches him out of the corner of his eye, head hanging. It only serves to make those eyes look even more lost. Seven disregards the look as Yoosung steps out of the car. He’s already driven off before Yoosung’s crossed the threshold to the apartment doors; the only evidence Yoosung was even here is the smell of popcorn and seaweed salt lingering in the air.

Seven rolls down the windows. He really should get an air freshener for this thing. It isn’t driven enough to smell naturally good.

Once back at his apartment, Seven throws off his sweater and shoes and molds into his computer chair.

Yoosung Kim. All Seven’s ever looked up was his Facebook. No Agent would have a Facebook page unless it was an alias.

***

It wasn’t an alias. At least, not as far as Seven can tell. Yoosung’s security information, identity information as assigned by the government, bank accounts (pretty empty, Seven notes), familial history… everything checks out with what Yoosung had told him. This cute kid really is just Rika’s cousin. Not by blood. She’s adopted apparently. Seven hadn’t known.

In fact, he didn’t know much about Rika, and any traces of her pre-adoption appear nonexistent. It’s not like anyone digitized the files for disbanded companies; they’re probably stored away in some temperature controlled environment, somewhere lost in boxes upon boxes of files. That’s also assuming that the archivist knew what they were doing.  

Seven groans, sitting back in his chair until it tips all the way back. He runs one ragged hand down his face, glasses pushed up into his mess of unruly red hair.

This kid just... fucking liked him. He saw Seven and liked… who knows? He saw something and asked Seven out on a date. Then Seven had to go and ruin it like he always does.

He pulls out his phone, staring guiltily at the last text he received from Yoosung. It was earlier tonight when he was watching WeTube videos with Saeran. One smiley face and the words: on my way!

Seven sends Yoosung several dejected smiley faces.

[Seven]: I’m sorry

[Yoosung]: ok

Well, what kind of response did he expect? Immediate forgiveness? That’s a laugh.

[Seven]: I’m leaving soon. It’s a long trip.

[Yoosung]: I’ll pack food

Yoosung doesn’t even ask. He’s already told Seven he’s attending more than once. Seven shakes his head ruefully. What has he gotten himself into by befriending such a headstrong person?

[Seven]: Nothing fish flavoured! And no seafood!

[Yoosung]: Figured that out already.

[Yoosung]: When are you coming?

[Seven]: Now.

Then Seven stares at the screen as no response comes.

[Seven]: Hey.

[Yoosung]: ????

[Seven]: Why do you trust me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all love it where this is heading. Let me know ^-^  
> I'm really enjoying this story.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Pokemon references in this one, and I tried to give explanation for readers who aren't familiar. ^°^  
> Probably one of my favorite chapters yet.

[Yoosung]: I don’t need a reason to trust you. 

Was that all it took? Was that was trust was? Seven’s never given trust to a person who hasn’t earned it. He’s never trusted someone without evidence proving they could be trusted.

Seven pulls his top over his head, stopping to survey for any body odour. He wrinkles his nose, and throws the shirt in the laundry pile. He rifles through his drawers and laundry basket, quickly realizes he has no other shirts and reluctantly puts his red one back on, along with a generous smear of deodorant. He tries to locate another pair of pants, but quickly gives up his search.

Vanderwood cooked for him last time, so he should be grateful, but instead he’s pissed off that they didn’t also do his laundry. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. He’ll just shove everything in a load later. 

Seven snatches his key from his computer desk, eyes lingering on the leftover chinese food he neglected to throw out. With a sigh, he grabs the styrofoam container and shoves it down the garbage chute on his way to the elevator. 

There. Now no one can complain that he isn’t cleaning up after himself. 

*** 

Yoosung’s waiting on the step outside his apartment building, elbows on his knees, head resting in his palms as Seven pulls up. He looks up excitedly when he sees the same luxury car slow to a crawl. Seven watches him stand, hike his backpack up on his shoulders, and approach the car with a shy wave. 

Yoosung gets in and Seven has noticed he’s changed, now donning his teal sweater and sweatpants. Looks like they shared similar thoughts; the only difference is Yoosung succeeded. 

“Hey.” Seven looks over briefly, then sets the GPS in his car. Instead of responding, Yoosung eyes the car.

“I never noticed how nice it was in here.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s one of my babes.”

“One? How many do you have?”

“Four.”

“F-four?” 

Yoosung looks like he’s about to speak again, but the chime of the programmed female voice cuts him off.

“Destination set. ETA of three hours, twenty six minutes. Turn right at the stop sign.” 

“That’s not that long,” Yoosung comments, remembering when Seven said the trip would be long.

“Yoosung, it’s midnight,” Seven deadpans as he mutes the GPS and continues the route he prefers to the highway. “By the time we get there, it’s probably going to be around three or four a.m.” 

“I’m used to staying up all night anyway,” Yoosung says with a shrug of his shoulders, buckling the seat belt and pulling a handheld game out of the front pocket of his backpack.

[Yoosung]: I don’t need a reason to trust you. 

Seven can’t stop hearing those words after every time Yoosung speaks, even though he only read them. He watches Yoosung open up the gaming console and hears the chime of a battle fill the car, almost drowning out the GPS. Yoosung squeaks and turns it down, muttering apologies.

“Who’s your starter?” Seven asks, recognizing the Pokémon battle theme anywhere. Yoosung shoves the backpack between his legs and settles back into the seat. 

“Popplio!” Yoosung declares proudly.

“Lame.” 

“What?”

“Fire starters are where it’s at!” Ignoring the prompts from the GPS, Seven continues the route he wants to take to the highway. 

“No way! Popplio has such a cool evolution. Cool beauty.”

Wrong. So wrong. It’s pitiful how wrong Yoosung is, and he doesn’t even know it. 

“Fire starters are the best, since fire pokemon are the most rare,” Seven chimes in, feeling like a super nerd from the early GameBoy versions. Unconsciously, he pushes his glasses up the ridge of his nose. “I’ll totally kick your ass with my Incineroar.” 

“No way, I’ve trained my team perfectly and they all have max hearts.”

“You play those mini games?” The stupid ones added to the most recent few games where players can pet their Pokémon, feed them pastries and play sickeningly cute games. 

“Um, why wouldn’t I? I want them to know they’re loved!”

Seven only plays to win, even if it’s against badly programmed AI. They pass by a fast food place on their journey to the open road. Seven eyes it. 

“Popcorn can only sustain man for so long,” Seven declares sagely.

“Uh, what?” 

“What food did ya bring?” 

“Tuna sandwiches,” Yoosung says smugly, and Seven cringes. “Water beats fire,” he whispers. What pure evil has Seven let into his car?

“I said no seafood!” A pause. “And now... no water pokemon!”

A small laugh. It’s probably the most genuine sound he’s ever heard from Yoosung. It causes Seven’s heart to leap; the same cold hand clutching at him when he hears someone honking his horn when he least expects it. Shocking, disarming. Unlike some asshole driving the car right behind him, Yoosung’s laugh is one of the nicest sounds Seven’s ever heard. What can he do to hear more of it?

He begins to slow the car, turning on his blinker. Chicken nuggets are calling him. 

“I’m kidding!” Yoosung says quickly. “You don’t need to buy food. I brought stuff.”

“Like what?” Seven isn’t convinced. 

“Like chips and sandwiches!”

“Not tuna?”

“Nope, turkey.”

Seven turns off his blinker and hastily merges out of the turning lane, causing a few more horns to blare, but it’s so late at night that stunts like this are of little consequence. Yoosung grabs onto the side of the passenger side door and glares at Seven.

“You did that on purpose!” he whines. Now, it’s Seven’s turn to laugh.

“You teased me by saying you brought tuna. This is revenge.”

Grumbling, Yoosung reaches into the backpack and pulls out one of the bags of chips he brought. The plastic crinkles loudly, and a sweet, buttery scent fills the car. Way better than the seaweed smell from earlier. 

Oh. Speaking of sweet. Seven shoves his hand in his pocket and throws the pack of gummy bears at Yoosung. 

“I forgot about these!” Yoosung exclaims happily, setting them aside as he munches on chips with one hand and battles Pokémon with the other. 

“Share the chips, you hogger,” Seven complains, turning his head and focusing on the merge as he takes the highway. 

Yoosung drops some chips in Seven’s outstretched hand. He knew that smell anywhere. Honey Buddha chips! Maybe Yoosung isn’t pure evil after all. Honey Buddha chips only accept those pure of heart. Seven gleefully shoves the handful in his mouth, forgetting he was in one of his babe cars instead of at the computer desk. Old habits die hard. He’ll just have to get her cleaned later. 

Once they are safely merged, the GPS beeps in what seems like agreement as it begins to chart their journey. The destination isn’t so much a point on the map as it is an arrow in the middle of the field. 

“Hey, Seven,” Yoosung says cautiously, game blasting music through the tiny set of speakers. The tune ends its cycle and begins to repeat. That’s when Seven notices Yoosung isn’t focusing on the game. 

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going?”

“The cult.”

“Yeah, but, uh, where exactly?” Yoosung sounds nervous, like he’s jumped into a pool and now realized the water is freezing cold. Is that regret Seven hears?

Seven knew this was coming. He couldn’t explain anything without explaining everything, so he sucks in a deep breath, brushing off the grease from the chips on his sweater. 

“You want to know everything I know?”

Yoosung doesn’t even hesitate before responding.

“Yes.”

Yoosung’s earned his trust by now. Seven tells Yoosung as much as he can without divulging V’s identity. He mentions escaping an unpleasant home life (sparing Yoosung the sob inducing details,) how V and Rika were supposed to protect and house Saeran, how Seven had been paying into a fund for Saeran with his earnings from his job working with computers, the strange email he received around two weeks ago, the completely different way Saeran looked now. Yoosung lets it steep in the silence around them. 

Seven takes in another gulp of air, then mentions the reason they argued a few hours ago, including the brief information he had seen about a Saviour and about the castle in the middle of nowhere called Magenta. He tells Yoosung that he suspects Rika isn’t suffering from drug withdrawals.

“Why do you think that is?” 

“I d-don’t know…” Yoosung’s first instinct is to ignore the truth staring both of them in the face. He plays out the rest of his battle, and Seven hears the familiar click of a pokeball sealing, signifying a new catch. “If she wasn’t drugged, was she… a prisoner?” 

“Could’ve been,” Seven agrees weakly. That wasn’t what he was trying to say.

“You already know, don’t you?” Yoosung whispers, voice cracking. The game still drones on in the background, the only thing keeping this discussion from getting too overwhelming.

“I don’t,” Seven admits. “But I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“I think you already know.”

Yoosung sighs raggedly and flips onto his side so most of his body is facing the passenger seat. He curls up and holds the console close to his face. 

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he says solemnly, signaling the end of their discussion.

*** 

Their conversation took up most of the car ride. Seven had a lot of details to unload on Yoosung, and while he avoided the most painful ones and those closest to his origin, it still hurt to even speak it aloud. He’s been churning in his own feelings for the last fifty minutes, nervously re-arranging his grip on the steering wheel even though he’s only been going straight this entire time. 

It isn’t until the GPS mentions an upcoming turn that Seven turns off the program and pulls off on a side highway, leading down a dark, unlit road past what Seven assumes to be farms based on the overwhelming smell of livestock feeding through his car's ventilation. Seven switches the air conditioning to cycle air from within the car. He’s smelled worse, but he isn’t sure what Yoosung will think of it. 

For once, he has a passenger and he wants to be respectful. 

Yoosung stirs for the first time in almost an hour. 

“Are we there?” he says sleepily, in the smallest voice. That sound alone washes Seven’s anxiety away 

“Soon, probably,” Seven responds quietly. He’s completed the bag of chips during their silence, and he throws the garbage onto the back seat behind him. “Can you get me a sandwich?”

“Hmm?” Yoosung inhales deeply, the way that everyone does when they’re just waking up. He stretches his limbs as much as he can in a car seat and reaches for his backpack. He hands half a sandwich to Seven, who munches without looking. Luckily, Yoosung wasn’t lying about making turkey sandwiches. How much it would have sucked if he bit right into something fishy? 

“Thanks, babe,” Seven teases. Yoosung either doesn’t listen or doesn’t care, because he slumps back down sleepily. 

“Mmmm, wake… wake when… get there.” 

***

Seven is sure he’s found the place when the road changes from gravel and dirt to cobble. The gravel sounded gristly under his tires and it jostled the car. Judging by Yoosung’s groans, it’s just enough of a rumble to prevent him from falling asleep. Once the road changes to cobble, the wobbling becomes more rhythmic, like the clopping of horses’ hooves, soft thunks sounding out instead of scratching rocks. 

There are trees all around, branches and leaves caressing his car with small thumps and scratches. He desperately hopes none of this makes a mark in his baby; she’ll lose her worth significantly if her aesthetic is damaged. 

He stops completely when a wall of bushes blocks the path any further. He flashes his high beams twice to scare off any animals, but avoids honking his horn. Sound carries. Light isn’t the smartest thing either, except it’s the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. They really have little choice. Seven turns off his car and listens to the eerie silence coupled with Yoosung’s soft breathing. 

Then, he leans over and nudges Yoosung’s shoulder until he sits bolt upright, the other half of the turkey sandwich completely crushed by his shock. 

“Huh? Wha... oh,” Yoosung verbalizes as he looks at the sandwich in his hand, spilling mustard over his fingers. He sucks at his fingers and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, takes a bite of the sandwich. 

It’s the most endearing thing Seven’s ever seen. Too bad they are here on business and not pleasure, because Seven can imagine having a lot of fun laying in his car with Yoosung, taking in the stars, especially when they’re visible this far out of the city. 

“We’re here,” Seven whispers. 

Yoosung’s back straightens and he sets the food aside. He waits for further instructions. 

“Grab my bag from the back seat,” Seven mentions as he rummages in the car’s middle console for a flashlight. Yoosung twists and pulls the small bag onto his lap. Seven shoves his car keys in his jean pockets and motions for Yoosung to exit the car. 

“There’s no more road, so we have to walk a bit,” Seven informs him, once they’ve carefully closed the car doors.

“Won’t we get lost?”

“You’re with God Seven. I won’t get us lost.”

“God…” Yoosung rubs at his eyes sleepily as Seven points the cone of light at the bushes in front of them. “The tripter account?”

“Uh, yeah,” Seven says sheepishly, inspecting the bush and kicking a leg through it. It’s not very deep. Wild bushes don’t grow like this, usually they sprout from the middle and create an oval shape, but judging by how thin it is, this was probably tailored to hide something. 

“W-wait, that’s you? You’re God Seven?”

Seven is almost halfway through the bush when Yoosung approaches him. 

“God, Yoosung, is that important right now?” Seven snaps, then grabs Yoosung’s wrist and pulls him through the bush. Yoosung’s surprisingly silent as Seven drags him through the bramble and bush, the ends of branches scratching their faces and snagging on their clothes. 

Once they’re out of it, though, they’re standing in the middle of a beautiful courtyard garden.  Via satellite, this building was completely covered by trees. Seven is perplexed and awestruck that this garden is completely uncovered, and prospering with several different types of flora. He isn’t a botanist. He can’t identify the flowers by name, but he can see the way the rose bushes were sculpted with care, the unnatural blue colour they bloomed in, the way their petals appeared to open towards the moonlight the way a sunflower would towards the sun. 

Seven follows the stone pathway down a row of flowers, all different colours and shapes, living harmoniously in the same soil. Fireflies wink in and out of existence, like they’re teleporting dimensions. The faint sound of water trickling in the distance leads Seven to believe there’s a fountain hidden somewhere in this immense garden. 

The flash light almost feels unnecessary as Seven passes by two trees growing in a perfect archway pattern. Someone had to have created this. It all feels too tailored, too perfect. In the orange moonlight, everything feels otherworldly and unnaturally still. 

This isn’t what he expected.

“Is this the place?”

Seven practically leaps out of his skin. He had forgotten Yoosung was with him, only reminded when he feels fingers twist into the fabric of his sweater. Seven pauses, lets Yoosung get close enough until they’re pressed together, chest to back, and then continues slowly, keeping his knees bent to control his sound. It’s especially dangerous in a garden where things crackle underfoot. 

“Probably,” Seven responds. They continue forward, locating a few benches and forgotten chairs crawling with spider webs. 

Eventually they locate a wooden door with a gleaming golden handle. Seven flashes the light directly on it, noting the hawkeye insignia carved into the door sloppily, like it was done after the door was created. Seven rules out a manufacturer’s label. Maybe it’s the Mint Eye?

Seven doesn’t think he’s ever felt more nervous infiltrating a place. It’s probably the location, the middle of fucking nowhere, or it’s the way the air hangs around them like they’re violating its sanctity. Maybe it’s the completely terrified civilian pressed into his back as Seven turns the doorknob. The door opens with a creak. 

Instead of moving right away, Seven listens. He listens for potential breathing, for the patter of footsteps, for the carried sounds of conversation, for ventilation or the sounds of machinery kicking to life. 

If the outside sounded still to Seven, the inside is akin to a forgotten mausoleum; the air musty and thick. 

“Backpack,” Seven whispers, and Yoosung hands him the bag without a word. He reaches in it, setting the flash light on the ground and letting it beam down the empty hallway. Seven grabs two face masks and hands one to Yoosung. 

“Why?”

“Two reasons: air quality and identity.” 

“Huh?”

“Just put it on.”

Yoosung obliges, pinching the metal at the bridge of his nose and fitting it to his face. Seven does the same. As Seven begins to enter the building gradually, he feels Yoosung’s fingers grope down his arm until he finds Seven’s hand. Their fingers slot together.

***

Rooms upon rooms of vacant beds, cots, and sleeping bags. Cultist quarters, Seven assumes. There’s a set of stairs leading down into a basement. Seven feels Yoosung shudder when they pass it. It’s ignored for now as they continue scoping out the first floor. 

Their footsteps are the only sounds among deafening silence; Seven’s purposeful and practised, Yoosung’s shuffling and hesitant. They finally come upon the end of the hall, feeling as if they’ve traversed miles when they’ve probably only gone a few hundred feet; everything feels longer when it’s in the dark, slow and creeping and very much like they’ve stepped into a horror video game. 

There’s no way there’s anyone else here. It was raided by the police. Even so, Seven didn’t expect it to be so quiet. 

Seven hands Yoosung the flashlight, groping around for the doorknob. It’s the only door that seems not to have one. 

“Can you step back? I can’t really see,” Seven asks, fingers roaming deftly across the smoothed wood. 

“Uh, I…” It’s clear Yoosung is reluctant due to the wobble in his voice. 

“It won’t be that bad,” Seven promises him in a low voice.

“What if… what if something grabs me?” 

Everything’s so tense, and it makes Yoosung’s words even more absurd. Seven has to choke back laughter. 

“Babe, nothing’s gonna grab you,” Seven reassures him.

“Th-this isn’t a joke! This is s-s-s-serious, Seven,” Yoosung stutters, the beam of light from the flashlight vibrating. Yoosung sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “Wh-what is this place? Is this the cult?” 

“Yeah. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Yeah, I mean, no - I mean, I didn’t think it would be like this,” Yoosung whimpers, flashlight now pointing to the ground as he rubs at his eyes. “I’m s-so scared, Seven.”

Seven’s hands find the empty doorknob hole, his fingers slipping inside and groping around for some kind of locking mechanism to mess with to open this door. What room would have no knob? This isn’t an electric door, so Seven can’t fathom any other way to open it. Maybe it’s only openable from the other side. There were no other routes that he saw. Did he miss a door in one of the cultist bedrooms? This makes no sense. 

Seven should probably be comforting Yoosung right now, but he’s too focused on the door. What could be behind here? Are there secrets? Doors like this usually have some treasure behind them, if video games have taught him anything. 

“Is this where R-rika was all this time?” Yoosung continues. Seven reaches into his backpack for his infiltration tools. He hasn’t needed these in a long time, and he’s never had top notch supplies. He tries to avoid fieldwork whenever possible, preferring to remain a recluse behind his computer screen. He could pry the door open, but he wants their presence to be largely undetected, so he opts for a thin sheet of plastic instead. It was probably part of some office stationary, but now it’s just thin enough that Seven can wedge it between the doors. It’ll at least tell him where the locks are. 

He drags the plastic over the crack between the two doors, noticing as it snags on the locks. There’s three. Yoosung keeps whimpering and muttering as Seven works, his noises fading into the background as Seven utilizes his tunnel vision focus. 

“I ca-can’t believe this. She’s not - there’s no way… she’s not like this. She’d never be somewhere like… like this.” 

Seven fiddles with the empty doorknob hole, fingers finding a small slot he missed before. He grabs a bobby pin from the hem of his sweater (both for infiltration and securing wigs) and fiddles with it. It would really help having his assistant hold the flashlight so he can fucking see... 

Frustrated, Seven slides the bobby pin back onto the hem of his sweater and turns around to Yoosung. He wraps one hand around Yoosung’s wrist and unceremoniously drags Yoosung in for a hug. Yoosung practically barrels into him, arms wrapped around his waist. Seven smoothes down his hair and shuts his eyes, allowing them both to lean on the door behind him. It’s not like it’ll be moving anywhere. 

“She’s… She’s…” Yoosung hiccups. Seven shushes him gently, leaking soothing honeyed words. Maybe Seven expected too much mental resilience. The kid had been through so much. 

Yoosung tries to calm down, tries to catch his breath before speaking. He lifts his head, his nose bumping against Seven’s neck. One more movement and his wet eyelashes brush against Seven’s skin. The smallest touch warms him.

“I’m afraid,” Yoosung says again, much calmer this time. “She’s part of this, isn’t she?”

“Maybe,” Seven admits. He truly hopes not. With everything in his being, he hopes not. He wants to wrap himself up in a comforting lie like a blanket; V and Rika would never hurt the Choi twins.

Right?

“Is she the Saviour?” Yoosung ventures. 

“That’s what we’re here to find out.” 

“Okay… okay, right.” Yoosung’s mentally preparing myself. “S-sorry I’m such a kid.”

Yoosung tries to step away, but Seven holds him steadfast. Yoosung breathes hard, hot breath ghosting along the wetness Yoosung’s tears left on his skin. Seven rubs his hands up Yoosung’s back, over the threadbare sweater he’s wearing.

With his sweater on, Seven’s smouldering hot. He’s breathing hard into his face mask, glasses fogging and obscuring his vision, pulse beating erratically in his chest. He hopes Yoosung can’t tell he’s stiffened up. Yoosung nuzzles closer, the face mask drags against the side of Seven’s neck. Seven swears he can feel something plush against his neck, the  press of Yoosung’s lips, but it’s hard to tell with the face mask in the way. It’s not like Yoosung’s kissing Seven’s neck; he’s just resting them there. With the material between their skin, it’s easily deniable anyway.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Seven promises. It feels like the only thing he could possibly say in this moment. His body feels tense, but he doesn’t want to let Yoosung go. This is even scarier than their unknown surroundings. One more steaming breath has his glasses completely covered.  

“I like you, Seven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chugging along with that slow burn.


	12. Chapter 12

It takes Seven several attempts to unlock the door. That tiny hole he had found earlier was part of the locking mechanism, but it wasn’t all there was to it. Seven broke five bobby pins trying to fiddle with this thing while Yoosung dutifully held the flashlight, unspoken words suspended in the air between them. 

Seven is relieved when the final lock clicks. He pockets the mangled bobby pin and pushes the door open. 

When Seven had first entered the building from the gardens, he had been perplexed by how deadly silent it was. Upon opening these double doors, the building groans to life like a mechanical monster being resurrected. The lights sputter, blinking twice before brightening with such intensity Seven shields his eyes. 

When Seven cautiously peeks his eyes back open, he’s awestruck by the scene before him. Rows upon rows of wooden pews, stained wood chipped only by carvings of the hawkeye insignia Seven had found on one of the doors earlier. It must be related to Mint Eye. The middle aisle is adorned with blue fabric, plush-padded velvet underneath Seven’s shoes as he cautiously ventures further in.

Large windows line the wall, filled with stained glass depicting swirls of colour resembling flowing water, yet with an unnaturally blue hue to it. Does this imagery mean anything to the cult members? 

His eyes venture up the carpet to the apex of this scene; where there should be an altar or some area for priests to hold mass, to bless the sacrament and the body of Christ. What Seven sees before him must be some corrupted version of that, because the altar is slick with something sticky. Seven doesn’t even want to know what it is, but based on the splotches of white crust here and there, he can assume. Was this used for…?

He doesn’t want to even think about it.  

Beyond the altar, there are two seats: an adorned armchair, sporting royal blue colours with a golden lace trim, and a large, comfortable looking pillow; likely for the saviour and the right hand. At least, that was what Seven’s instincts were screaming to him. Despite the entire area being lit up, Seven is still just as cautious as he moves, always concerned by the threat of discovery. He spots robes slung over the Saviour’s armchair, an ornate mockery of organized religion. 

There’s obvious craftsmanship in the design of this church, from the stained glass windows all the way to the layout. If he had to hazard a guess, this cult probably existed for some time before being discovered. That thought conjures up all types of anxious thoughts, so he dismisses them to work on the task at hand. First, he needs to discover why it feels like he’s been in this church before.

Oh. Right. That has to be it. 

Everything feels like a tilted version of the church he frequented growing up, the one place he found solace for himself from their mother. Seven’s stomach churns uncomfortably, reminding him of the bag of chips he stress-ate during the drive. As he turns from the altar, he spots Yoosung standing at a podium he didn’t notice before. It’s kind of off to the side, and much simpler than the ornate throne and altar. 

Seven approaches the podium, half expecting some theatrical trap to spring to life and catch him off guard. Once he catches sight of Yoosung’s pervasive frown, it steals his focus. The expression is so somber and unreadable, there’s no answer to be gleaned from it.

There’s no sound save for the hum of overhead lighting and the sound of air pushing through ventilation. It’s calming being able to acclimate to something; makes the world feel less dead, makes them feel less buried alive. Soon, there may be no more need to keep the face masks on. For now, Seven feels safer with his face half-obscured. 

As he approaches, Seven notices Yoosung flipping through a book. He reads passages over Yoosung’s shoulder. 

_ In the name of our Saviour, I welcome you on the night of nights. Our hall has become a chamber for the pleasures of the flesh to be made manifest and granted to thy- _

Yoosung flips the page. 

_ Therein lies the culmination of your courtship. _

The words make Seven’s skin crawl. Is this supposed to be scripture? Seven steps forward, his hand trailing the black ink scrawled into the edges of the scripture; someone’s hasty handwriting a stark contrast to the typeface the scripture is written in _.  _ The passage reads as follows:

_ She preserves the lives of her followers. She delivers them from the hand of falsehood. _

The words indent the page, like the writer had pushed the pen too hard. Seven nudges Yoosung to the side as he inspects other pages for more hand-written notes, more insights into what the people of Mint Eye truly thought.   
There’s only one additional note, written in the center of a blank page. The letters are bold, darkened by someone tracing them over and over.

**For eternal Paradise.**

“What is this?” Yoosung whispers, hands shaking. He won’t let go of the book, even though Seven’s been turning the pages for a while now. 

“So, there really was a cult,” he continues.

That must be rhetorical, because Seven has no response. Whatever is written here gives Seven shivers, like the air gently circulating is the cool breath of some otherworldly creature, reading the passages over his shoulder.

He wanders away, inspecting the area a second time. When Yoosung follows him, lost in his own thoughts, Seven points to the pews. They don’t need to speak, Yoosung just nods and wanders off, inspecting underneath and between the rows.

As Seven’s eyes trail the podium, the crusted altar, the garish velvet throne and accompanying throw pillow, he notices an odd lump of fabric he didn’t see before. He lifts up the cushion on the throne, discovering an empty bottle. It’s thick, a heavy weight in his hand despite it being clearly empty. The stopper is missing, so Seven wafts the lip under his nose, and smells something putrid and acidic that flips his stomach. He was trained to learn all types of chemical smells as part of the agency but he’s never smelled a mix quite like this one.

He takes another look at the bottle; it’s beautiful, in its own way. Glass mottled and overlapped over itself enough to make it look like a jewel in itself. Seven glances over at the stained glass windows, to the unnatural coloured water depicted on it, and wonders if the liquid on there is related to whatever this bottle once held.

“Yoosung, does that book say anything about weirdly coloured water, or…” Seven turns the bottle over in his palm. “Or a potion or something?” 

Yoosung wanders back to the podium.  

“Half this book is blank,” he responds, voice flat. Seven assumes he’s suppressing his emotions. “But... there is the word elixir?” 

That could be it. Seven stores that knowledge away. He wanders back over to the podium, and waits for Yoosung to finish reading the scripture so he can flip through it; some crazed agenda of a religious cult didn’t fascinate him that much, especially when he could clearly see where the text was inspired by the bible. What Seven wants to discover is if anyone is named. Perhaps everyone is referred to by their title only judging by the amount of times he scans the word ‘Saviour’. He hopes Saeran’s name doesn’t pop up. 

Seven’s relieved when he scans the remaining pages and notices nothing besides a bookmark fashioned from a pressed blue rose, petals the colour of old bruises. He frowns. 

Why did that remind him so much of Saeran?   
***

There were no grand secrets in the church. 

Seven’s disappointed. This means they will have to inspect the rest of the building. When they finally wander back out to the hallway, Seven tucks the flashlight into the side pocket of his backpack. The lights are on in the hallway now, too. He can see all the way down to the door they entered, still slightly ajar from earlier. 

Despite it feeling like they had traversed countless miles, they really had only gone a few metres. Curious, how fear and trepidation can make the smallest journeys span incomprehensibly long. There’s just one more thing he wants to inspect before he goes: those stairs leading down. 

Yoosung clearly doesn’t like this idea, by the way he twists his fingers together nervously. He doesn’t reach for Seven’s hand like he did earlier, however. There’s too much of a rift between them where Yoosung’s mistimed confession hangs.

They share a tentative glance, all awkward half smiles behind face masks and rapidly beating hearts before Seven slowly leads them down. 

No spooky house is complete without a creaky set of stairs. That’s exactly what Seven experiences as he tiptoes down, the air growing cold around them as they descend. It’s an unnaturally deep basement, and despite the electricity working, the lights are nothing more than strung up bulbs against the brick wall, providing little illumination and casting plenty of shadows. 

Even through the face mask, the air has a metallic taste to it, like blood has soaked into it. It’s eerie. The tension between them is barely enough to keep Yoosung away as he skitters closer with each foot fall.  

They hit the bottom of the stairs with a splash, stepping directly into some fetid water. Yoosung groans, understandably so. Seven’s used to physical discomfort, so he just prays there’s no weird disease breeding down here to seep into his skin. He leads Yoosung forward, fingers trailing the slimy brick. The lights down here didn’t turn on, so he fishes out his flashlight again. 

He points the beam of light at the wall, brightness catching the water trickling down rock and shining back at them. He adjusts his glasses, squinting his eyes as if that will zoom in his vision like on a computer. Again, he’s reminded that he isn’t an android. His poor eyes will only ever get him so far. He just needs to locate...

Bingo.

Seven flicks the light switch. Moments pass, and they are still bathed in darkness. Seven looks around him, catching a beam of light partially blocked by a wall. They walk around the partition. 

Yoosung’s still pressed into his side. Seven reflects for a moment how guilt-ridden he feels, dragging a civilian here to witness all this first hand, even if Yoosung said he wanted to be involved.   

Seven’s breath catches in his throat when he sees what the light switch illuminated. He spins and covers Yoosung’s eyes. Frightened, the boy cries out and braces his hands on Seven’s shoulders. If their faces weren’t obscured by masks, Seven would probably see Yoosung’s pink lips wobbling. 

“Wh-what’s going on?” Yoosung asks, voice cracking. His hands roam from Seven’s shoulders towards his hands, trying to regain his eyesight. Seven isn’t sure he wants Yoosung to see this.

First a weird cult and now a prison cell. What exactly did this place use that for?

Perhaps the bars might have once been gleaming and spotless. Now, though, they’re rusted and flaked, some spots turning a bluish teal where moss has decided to grow. There are no seats inside, just several pairs of handcuffs bolted to the wall. Much like the prison bars, the handcuffs are rusted over, brown and dark red, the colour of dried blood. 

Yoosung’s stronger than he looks, and in Seven’s distraction, he pries his fingers off his face. The sharp way Yoosung breathes and then whimpers makes Seven shiver. This is too much for a civilian. He’s going to ruin this kid’s innocence. 

Dammit, Seven should have considered that before he was swept up in the sentimentality that someone liked and trusted him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“H-have you ever seen anything like this?” Yoosung whispers, arms hugging his own shoulders. 

“No,” Seven responds, eyes glued to the shackles. No, he’s never seen something like this before. Probably. Who knows? Especially with all the human trafficking cases he was loosely affiliated with. Helping the bad people do the wrong things; that’s what Agent 707 does. That’s why it doesn’t matter if Yoosung likes him or not, because at his core, at his heart, he’s no different than this prison cell. 

Paranoid, Yoosung looks around him. He doesn’t make eye contact with Seven, but Seven can feel those eyes boring into him as he walks away. He turns his head a little too quickly, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s just felt the scratch of a ghost, and reluctantly follows Seven.

Seven starts investigating the rest of the basement. There’s urgency to his steps. They need to leave. He needs to get Yoosung back to his normal, safe life. Seven doesn’t want to be in this creepy place anymore. He doesn’t want to let the evil air to latch onto him, to recognize him as one of its own kind. 

He is determinedly checking all of the empty basement rooms when he stumbles upon what he was really looking for. His glasses gleam in the reflected light from the prison cell. 

A server room.

“Jackpot.”

*** 

All of the computers have been destroyed. There’s a baseball bat sitting among the wreckage, undamaged minus a few scuffs. Seven grinds his teeth, feels angry at this stupid baseball bat for existing, and sets to inspecting each innard of the cascade of towers, just in case. 

His mind flashes to the email V sent him two weeks ago, to the one incident that has led up to him being here right now. 

To: Agent 707   
From: Agent 05   
  
Subject: FWD: FWD: FWD: FWD: Great screensaver!   
SKY University Hospital. Third floor.   
I’ve taken the steps to ensure he isn’t responsible.   
-V

Was this what V meant by ensuring Saeran isn’t involved? Has he been to Magenta? Did he know about the cult? Was he part of the cult? Seven’s heart freezes in his chest. It’s possible, isn’t it? That V and Rika ran this together? That they knew for years Saeran was hurting, that he wasn’t himself? 

Agitated, Seven tears off the sliding wall of a PC tower, accidentally ripping half the motherboard and its connectors with it. He throws it across the room, forgetting for a moment the small blonde tagalong trailing behind him. 

“I’m trying to find a hard drive that isn’t destroyed,” Seven explains, voice edged. Yoosung slumps against the wall and nods absently, head lolling to the side as he stares out the entrance of the room, just in case something appears there. He isn’t crying anymore, which is good, but he looks almost catatonic. 

The urge to leave rises tenfold when he sees how exhausted and traumatized Yoosung looks. 

“We’ll go soon.” 

“Okay.”

***

Yoosung doesn’t speak for the rest of the investigation. He watches Seven pocket the one undamaged hard drive, detaching it from the PC tower innards like a surgeon, precise and gentle. He lets Seven drag him back into the church, follows silently as Seven photographs everything he can for his personal files, for his “just in case.” 

For his own investigation into Saeran. 

Yoosung looks intrigued for a moment when Seven pulls out a small silken cloth, when he meticulously wipes down all the areas they had touched with their bare hands, when he makes Yoosung tell him which pews he touched exactly. Seven isn’t sure what the police have left to investigate, but he doesn’t want to be caught.

It was less a concern for his own fingerprints (since they don’t exist in any police database anymore,) but for Yoosung’s. He doesn’t want some innocent getting caught up with Agent 707. 

The last thing Seven ensures before leaving is that the locking mechanism he tinkered with is active again. It is a simpler task than it sounds, because the second the door closes fully and the locks snap into place, all the lights in the building switch off. 

Just like any good thief, there’s no trace of their entry anymore. 

The drive home is solemn. Yoosung throws the remaining three bites of turkey sandwhich out the window as they drive on the farmland, now visible with the sun rising in the distance behind them. The juxtaposition of the golden sun against the yellow wheat, coupled with the cows mooing in the distance, would have felt quaint and peaceful had they not just witnessed Mint Eye first hand. 

In the last hour of the ride, hunger overcomes both of them. Without any other food, they silently snack on the gummy bears; the remnants of their date. It was only hours ago, but it feels like an entire vivid lifetime between their awkward movie theatre cuddle and the present. 

Seven squishes a gummy bear between his index finger and thumb and pops it in his mouth, all the while considering how fickle life really is. One glance out of the corner of his eye shows an apathetic Yoosung, eating slowly and languidly, eyes staring out at nothing. He’s destroyed this boy.  

One more casualty on Agent 707’s list. 

***

Yoosung’s asleep when Seven finally pulls up to his apartment. He tries to wake him with a few nudges to the shoulder, but Yoosung is unwilling to awaken, completely lost to the comfort of sleep.

Seven moves his car from the street to the parking lot behind Yoosung’s building. He grabs Yoosung’s bag, fishing around inside for house keys. Then he opens the passenger side door of the vehicle, catching Yoosung before he slumps right over on the pavement, beyond exhausted. The jolt wakes Yoosung up a bit. 

It’s tiring hauling Yoosung into the elevator of his building. He’s thankful that he remembers Yoosung’s apartment number from his investigation, because getting any information out of Yoosung in this state would be impossible. Seven unlocks the front door and guides Yoosung in and towards the closest place to rest. Luckily, it’s a small apartment, just a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen; barely shy of qualifying as an actual apartment instead of a bachelor. 

Yoosung slumps into bed, quickly finding the soft pillows and burying into them. Seven tugs at Yoosung’s sweater, but it’s a pullover, and there’s no way he’s getting that off without Yoosung’s assistance. It’s horribly dusty from their venture in the Mint Eye basement, but it seems Yoosung doesn’t care right now. 

So, he pulls off Yoosung’s shoes, throwing them down the hallway. Seven may be a slob, but wearing shoes to bed always made him feel like he was on the run, never fully being able to relax in case he had to bolt. He surveys the room, finds a balled up blanket half kicked off at the foot of the bed and covers Yoosung with it. It’s the least Seven can do after dragging Yoosung... there.  

Seven’s about to turn to leave when his endless energy fails him for a moment and he sits down on the bed. Just a second to rest on something comfortable and plush. Not like his car seats weren’t beyond standardized comfort, but after a while driving, his legs and back are really feeling cramped up. 

Yoosung’s house smells nice. It smells like leftover soup and candles, like someone actually lives here. Despite that things are kind of messy, clothes and textbooks strewn everywhere. Seven really likes the atmosphere of the place. It fits Yoosung.

As Seven’s pondering, Yoosung sits up abruptly, surprised by the way his mattress wobbles when Seven sits down. They makes eye contact, purple eyes wide, and then he looks down at their hands, inches apart on the bed. 

“Are… you’re leaving?” 

“Was gonna, yeah,” Seven responds casually. He tries to will his legs to work, to help him stand, but his body is so tired it can’t obey.

“...can… stay,” Yoosung mumbles, half a sentence audible before he slumps back into the pillows, one hand covering Seven’s. Was that on purpose?  

“Is that a good idea?” Seven answers. Despite his exhaustion, his voice works, his defenses are still up, and he can’t stop thinking that Yoosung should be afraid of him, that there’s no comfort to be given by someone as rotten as Agent 707. 

“Mmmmph, mmhmm,” comes a rumbly voice from between the pillows.

“You’re too tired.” What if Yoosung wakes up and regrets letting Seven stay in his bed like this? 

“Yeah, but… still…”

Yoosung gropes up Seven’s arm, locating the ends of his sweater and tugging. It’s as much of a response as Seven’s going to elicit from Yoosung right now, so he wearily lets himself get dragged onto the bed. The last thing he does before he loses consciousness is kick off his brown boots, settling into the comforting feeling of someone’s arms wrapped around his waist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my bud Ernesto that helped me brainstorm the Mint Eye church and write the scripture! 
> 
> Let me know what you think, ya'll. :3 Us yooseven shippers are a small but mighty group.


	13. Chapter 13

Seven prefers the dark, so when he awakens to a ray of sunlight aimed directly at his face, he’s immediately perturbed. The sun may be a perfect sniper but it isn’t allowed inside Agent 707s bunker-like apartment, so logically… he must not be at home. Fuck.

He tries to sit bolt upright as he gathers his thoughts, but there’s a pair of arms around him. He panics for a moment as he considers his agency training, his first instinct to disarm and subdue whoever dared touch him. He realizes when he hears small groans behind him that this person isn’t hostile.

Seven regains his senses enough to remember the way Yoosung’s apartment smells, a lingering aroma of spices and soup. He breathes in deeply to calm himself. His hands hesitantly rest on the ones snaked around his waist.

Wasn’t this what he always wanted? Wasn’t this what he fantasized about? Having someone hold him like this? He has to admit, the warmth of Yoosung’s body is comforting. It’s especially soothing with the even way Yoosung breathes right by his ear. Did he move closer in his sleep? Is his face in Seven’s hair? Oh no. What if he smells bad? It’s more than likely Seven does, because he hasn’t changed his clothes in a few days, and neglected his laundry pile for much longer. 

Seven tries to focus on the good, his fingers rubbing the back of Yoosung’s hand and up his sweater clad arm. It’s part of his fantasy, someone trusting him and holding him. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to lose himself in a moment he’s only dreamt of for years. It feels… off. It doesn’t feel wrong, per se. Actually, if it felt wrong in any way, Seven would have already been halfway home with an unsettled feeling in his stomach. Instead, the feeling in his stomach is… well, it hurts, but it’s pleasant? He tries to relax, tries to mold his body into Yoosung’s. His muscles aren’t listening though. Seven is sure it’s not comfortable at all cuddling a wooden board. 

He wiggles just enough to flip over. Maybe if he sees Yoosung, this will all feel real. Seven has never seen a more beautiful sight. Yoosung’s face is half obscured, one cheek is completely formed into the pillow, squishing his face and making him appear chubbier than he really is. Blonde bangs fall past his forehead, hair clips completely askew,  no longer holding anything in place.This close to Yoosung, he can see the roots of his natural hair colour showing, dark peeking out underneath light. 

Maybe it’s the sunlight streaming into the window, catching their hair, warming Seven’s back in his black sweater. All of this is too cozy and complete, and… something someone like him doesn’t deserve. It’s a fantasy for a reason. It has to remain a fantasy, because experiencing it just makes him more cognizant of how tainted he truly is. 

Despite these thoughts, Seven’s completely charmed by Yoosung, and overwhelmed with a desire to protect those chubby cheeks. He wraps an arm protectively around Yoosung’s shoulders. This is absolutely what he wanted, but it’ll be ruined when Yoosung awakens. Seven stupidly took him into Mint Eye. What he saw there could not be unseen. While to someone desensitized like Seven it was nothing, to Yoosung, a civilian, it was probably more than he had ever seen in his life. Probably more than he could handle.

Seven hopes that Yoosung doesn’t regret befriending Seven when he awakens. He hopes he doesn’t regret asking Seven out, or telling him he liked him, or-

Fuck. Seven forgot about that confession. 

Yoosung had said he liked him. Seven was so wrapped up in Mint Eye, in finding out what Rika and V were doing, what Saeran’s involvement was, that he completely disregarded Yoosung’s confession. His heart stills in his chest, gripped by an icy hand. Shit. He shouldn’t have stayed. This was a mistake. Yoosung is either going to hate him forever now or he’s going to develop some unnatural codependency on Seven, and Seven isn’t sure he can handle either. That’s why he avoided relationships with people that weren’t agents; at least agents understood the drill and didn’t get attached. He just wants to fulfill his promise to play LOLOL with the cute boy he met at the hospital and... oh God, now he can’t breathe, and…

Yoosung’s awake.  There’s a dreamy smile on his face as he regards Seven, arms trapped between both their chests. 

“Hi,” Yoosung says softly.

“Hey.”

Yoosung’s brows furrow. He regards Seven closely, eyes darting around Seven’s face, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“You look kind of freaked out.”

“S-sorry.”

“Everything okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Seven sighs. He keeps his body completely still, just in case Yoosung notices his arms wrapped protectively around his shoulders. He doesn’t want to bring attention to the fact that he cuddled Yoosung in his sleep. Somehow it feels wrong, even though Yoosung practically force cuddled him. 

“Why? Oh.. you mean… there?” It looks like Yoosung is remembering as his eyes start to water slightly. Yoosung rubs at the corner of one eye. It looks like he’s trying to cover up how distraught he is.

“Yeah. S-sorry… for bringing it up,” Seven immediately apologizes. His arms twitch and then still. Yoosung doesn’t seem to notice. Thank God. 

“It really sucked there. Was that the right place?” Almost hopeful, Yoosung looks like he’s begging Seven to say it wasn’t Mint Eye.

“I think so.” He’s positive, but neglects to say that. “I’m sorry.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” 

“Because I shouldn’t have taken you,” Seven breathes, his own self loathing dripping from each word. 

“But... I asked?” If it were possible, Yoosung would be tilting his head to the side. He shifts, blankets rustling as Seven feels a hand hesitantly on his side. Oh no, Yoosung’s trying to touch him. Seven squeezes his eyes shut.

“I should have said no.” Seven’s ashamed of the way his voice cracks. He’s ashamed of plenty of things. Yoosung should just kick him out of his bed and his life. The response comes without any hesitation.

“You probably couldn’t have stopped me.” 

Seven almost scoffs.

“I don’t know about that.” There’s plenty Seven could have done to stop Yoosung, beginning with manually subduing and ending with chemically induced sleep. He doesn’t say that, though. 

“Seven.” 

Yoosung’s voice turns serious, like he can read Seven’s thoughts. Seven hesitantly opens his eyes. He forgot how bright it was inside this bedroom. How is it so bright right now? What time is it? They probably got here around seven or eight in the morning, but it still feels like the afternoon. Oh, Yoosung asked a question… Seven should probably respond. 

“Uh, yeah?”   
“Where do you work?” God. Of course. Yoosung’s too inquisitive. Seven half laughs, half scoffs, and shakes his head. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” Yoosung insists. 

“I’m a secret agent.” 

Now, this is where Seven expected Yoosung to laugh, but instead his eyes go wide.

“That explains the car!” he says excitedly, hand firmly pressing onto Seven’s hip now. Seven’s vaguely aware of the fact that his own hands have slipped around Yoosung’s neck. This is a lot more passive than he remembers ever being in his life. Seven tries not to think about it.

“Or I lied,” Seven offers, trying to obtain some of the power he’s lost. Yoosung purses his lips, his eyes turning to look beyond Seven as he ponders this.

“Huh… didn’t think of that. Are you lying?” So direct. Seven isn’t used to someone like this.

“Dunno,” Seven responds with a small shrug. 

“You’re not, are you?” Yoosung’s reading him like an open book with that knowing glint in his eye. This kid is dangerous.

“Maybe I am,” Seven insists. 

And just like that, Yoosung’s confidence is gone.   
“Wait, are you or aren’t you?” 

Seven just chuckles. Yoosung is clever, and ridiculously smart, but has no confidence. The minute someone introduces any type of uncertainty, he crumbles. That’s dangerous information when in the wrong hands. 

“Seven! You’re totally lying, right? If you were, wouldn’t you… not sleep here?” 

Well, Yoosung’s definitely got him there.

“Momentary lapse in judgement.” It really was. 

Yoosung pauses, looking unhappy with that answer, a pout on his face. Seven isn’t going to offer any more information. They stare at each other. Is Yoosung used to getting what he wants when he uses that face? He’s starting to look put out that Seven isn’t responding to it. It’s adorable, Seven has to admit, but being manipulated won’t work on an agent. With a sigh, Yoosung changes the subject. 

“Seven… what kind of people do you like?”

“Huh? All kinds, I guess.” Or none, which is closer to the truth. That also wasn’t the answer Yoosung was looking for, because he starts to look a little unsettled, unsure of his next words as he chooses them carefully. 

“Oh… do you… I kind of got the vibes you...” 

“Like guys?”

A sheepish nod.

“You win a prize!” Seven teases. Yoosung’s eyes light up. 

“What kind of prize?” 

Huh, Seven hadn’t considered what kind of prize. He usually just says it to Vanderwood whenever they get something trivial right, and they roll their eyes. Seven has to remember that not all interactions go the same with different people. 

“The knowledge of knowing I like boys.”

“You like girls, too? Or just boys?” Yoosung ventures.

“Hmmm… both, I guess. You?”

“Always thought I liked girls… didn’t figure out until later that I didn’t.” Yoosung shifts as he says this, his hands moving away from Seven’s hips. He had gotten so used to the pressure there that he almost misses it when it’s gone. 

“How’d you know?” Seven can’t tell if that look on Yoosung’s face is because he’s uncomfortable, so he ventures further. Is Yoosung interested in having this type of discussion right now?

“You’re totally going to laugh,” Yoosung says as he obscures half his face in his hands.  

“Try me.”

Yoosung takes a deep breath before continuing, pushing stray strands of hair out of his face. 

“I get asked out a lot… girls like me, I guess. But every time I tried to picture myself, y’know, with them, I kinda felt sick.”

“Huh.”

“Is... is that weird?” Yoosung moves his fingers enough to peep through them, looking insecure and unsure of himself. Is this the first time he’s ever had this conversation? Is Seven… is he coming out to Seven? 

“I wouldn’t know.”

“How did you know?” Yoosung averts his eyes shyly. “Y’know,” he mumbles. “That maybe you weren’t normal.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know about not being normal, but… you’re definitely not going to believe me.”

“Try me.” Yoosung mimics Seven’s earlier statement, a coy look in his eyes. That twinkle in his eyes is doing unnatural things to Seven’s heart. 

“I was doing field work with another agent, and thought we were gonna die, so… I sucked his dick, and found out it was pretty good stuff.” 

Yoosung sputters. 

“Y-you... wh-what?”

“I thought you liked guys?”

“Yeah, but... I’ve never s-s-sucked… or kissed.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

There’s a pause. Yoosung slowly lowers his hands, index finger trailing over his bottom lip as he considers this. Purple eyes dart to Seven’s mouth. Feeling watched, Seven licks his lips nervously. He isn’t trying to bait Yoosung, he just has no idea how to navigate this conversation. Yoosung keeps squeezing information out of him that he shouldn’t divulge. There’s something foreign hanging in the air. Yoosung’s probably thinking about Seven’s mouth, maybe his lips, and maybe the things he has done with them in the past… but he can’t tell if Yoosung is disgusted or interested. In all honesty, Seven’s never had to look before, because he’d never cared about his partner enough to wonder if they were interested.

If this was an opportunity to encourage a kiss, Seven lets the moment pass by unseized. There’s too much to deal with, too much in the air between them, too much on their minds. Yoosung frowns, eyes glazing over with some type of memory. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth. 

“Rika was really in a place like that, huh?” 

“I guess so.”

“I wonder if she’d tell me… probably not.” Yoosung must be thinking out loud. 

“Neither will Saeran.” If he ever talks to Seven again, that is.

“What are you going to do?” 

“Keep being there for him, I guess.” Seven withdraws his arms and pushes himself into an upright position. Yoosung takes the initiative to do the same. The haze and sleepy comfort of just waking up has passed and Seven can’t find any more reason to touch Yoosung.  

“I’m going to do that, too. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but… I believe in Rika. I’m going to help her as much as I can, even if it’s just being with her. I don’t think she did anything bad. I don’t think she can do anything bad.”

***

It’s about three in the afternoon when Seven gets to the hospital. He’s relieved that he was able to get through the majority of his investigation during the night, when Saeran was asleep. This gives him time before Vanderwood comes back with another assignment.  Two weeks, they had told him, and Seven didn’t know Vandy to be tardy. 

Of course,having been gone for less than twelve hours, the hospital is unchanged, despite Seven feeling like a completely different person. It’s weird how life can be experienced so vividly that one is sure that the world around them has changed, only to be jarred when you realize how little time actually matters. Some things are forever enduring, and Seven suspects the hospital is one of those things. There will always be the sick in need of care, and there will always be overworked nurses and doctors working to deliver that care. 

One curious detail sticks out as Seven walks down the hall: a room with a previously closed door is now wide open, warning magnets plastered on it now removed. Perhaps that should mean something to Seven; there’s a small tickle in the back of his brain that notes this as peculiar, but it’s forgotten as he prioritizes his brother. 

Seven enters Saeran’s room with a butter tart and a piping hot cup of chocolate. He hopes Saeran will take the food this time without any prompting. Seven’s surprised when he finds a lone woman occupying the room, hands preoccupied with typing furiously on her phone as she stands between the curtain divider and the entrance way. Her short hair and glasses look familiar. Seven’s relieved that she has the good sense to stay out of Saeran’s eyesight. 

Seven has definitely seen this woman before. Exhaustion is seeping into the corners of his brain like sand, muddying his thoughts, and he can’t quite place why he knows her. His senses are dulling so much lately; perhaps this vacation of his was ill-timed. He hopes he can keep up the charade in front of Vanderwood, convincing them that there’s nothing compromising his ability to work.

“Uh,” Seven clears his throat and mentally goes down his list of conversation starters and pleasantries. It’s fairly small. He’s not much of a small talker.   
“Luciel.” The woman speaks with the utmost certainty. She pulls the file from underneath her arm, a plain manilla envelope, and hands it to him. “Read it.”

Seven can’t grab the envelope with his hands full, so he walks past this strange woman without answering and goes in to visit his brother.

“Saeran,” Seven coos in a gentle voice, setting the hot chocolate down on the windowsill. He trusts his brother, but he has intrusive thoughts of Saeran using the piping hot drink to assault someone. Maybe because it seems like something he would do if he had to get out of a precarious situation. He unwraps the butter tart and hands it to Saeran. 

Two weeks in the hospital seem to have done some good for Saeran. Or, at least… Seven wants to believe it. He looks calmer, a little less crazed than when he began, and he’s defaulted back to his quiet self, a self that Seven used to see when they were children. The person who attacked an orderly seems nonexistent as Seven watches the gentle way Saeran nibbles on the butter tart. A mirrored smile passes both their lips.

The moment is interrupted by someone clearing their throat, a feminine sounding ‘ahem.’ Seven turns around and scowls. Oh yeah, this lady. 

“What do you want?” Seven snaps. He just wants to visit Saeran. He doesn’t want to be interrupted by whoever the hell this is. Saeran seems to have gotten used to seeing strangers. She curtly hands him the manilla envelope again.

“I’m sure you can obtain this information for yourself.” She sighs as if she’s making a comment on how useless this delivery is. Curiosity piqued, Seven grabs the envelope and slides the papers out. 

He scans them. There’s information about Mint Eye, about Magenta, the castle in the mountains, about their members and hierarchy. These are all things he had seen himself during his field trip, or at least suspected. None of this is new information. Seven’s frustrated someone is wasting his time until he comes across some photographs at the end of the report.

There’s a photograph taken from above, probably from a plane or a helicopter… or maybe a drone, now that he thinks about it. It captures the surrounding forest, the ephemeral garden Seven had infiltrated, and two individuals among the flowers. There’s a woman with long wavy blonde hair and a man standing beside her, with white hair and wearing a magenta suit. Seven flips to the next photo. It’s just a zoomed in version of the same one, the quality severely reduced. Even so, Seven can see that their hands are joined. Wait… not quite, they’re holding something. Seven can’t tell if the blonde woman is retrieving the item or giving it away, but either way, both their hands are on it. Two guesses who the people in the photograph are.

Seven snaps his head up.

“Who are you?” His tone is accusatory, his body tense. Out of the corner of his eye, Saeran is still mindlessly enjoying the butter tart, paying no heed to anything aside from it.   
The woman standing in front of him widens her eyes. A small, stifled laugh escapes from behind her hand. Then she coughs, tries to readjust her composure and smiles like she’s a mouse who’s caught a cat in her trap.

“Figured I didn’t need to introduce myself. Mr. Han said it was unnecessary.” 

“You… work with Jumin?”   
“Obviously,” she says again, reigning in the smug attitude. “I’ve been tasked with finding information about Mint Eye and the cultists.”

“And you are…?”

The woman blinks. She looks like she wants to challenge it, wants to ask why the supposed hacker has no idea who she is, but she doesn’t. She just answers with her name: Jaehee Kang, assistant to C&R’s director, Jumin Han. 

“Where did you find these?” Seven asks, pointing to the pictures. He’s interested in whatever item the people in the photograph were passing between each other. It’s hard to tell what it is, but it looks small enough to be held in one hand, and it’s… blue? There’s no telling if image quality like this could be trusted to accurately present colour. It might be wrong. 

“We’ve been looking into Mint Eye for… some time.”

“How long?”

“I can’t disclose.”

“How long?” Seven insists, gripping the photograph so hard the edges crinkle. 

Jaehee tilts her head, gracing him with a curious yet formidable stare. She sucks in a breath, obviously reconsidering her words, before she says, “I believe you’ll be able to find that out for yourself.”

*** 

Jaehee leaves him with the manilla envelope. He tries to stop her, gripes about how inconvenient it would be to safely dispose of this confidential information, tries not to mention the handler named Vanderwood who inspects his home on the regular, tries to keep his questionable organizational skills out of the equation. It succeeds, because she sighs and hands him a business card with a phone number that he can call when he’s done with the files so she can come retrieve them.

Seven deposits it with the files and sits in the plastic chair beside Saeran’s bed. He turns on those speedpaint videos he knows Saeran loves and hands the phone to him. They exist together in a comfortable silence as Seven scans the rest of the documents. 

Mint Eye: a religious cult based on the idea that humanity is inherently selfish and in need of saving. It advertises itself to be a place of eternal parties, dealing in a specific type of drug that is only privy to cult members. There are pages upon pages of lore and documentation, all of which Seven scans like a computer using the ‘Find’ function to hone in on relevant information. Jaehee clearly did her work, because there are even cult member testimonies, included in the file that glean some unsavoury information about Mint Eye; namely, how they would deal low risk drugs such as marijuana and psilocybin before offering their clients something stronger. Where did Jaehee obtain this information? The police? C&R’s lawyers? If Seven remembers correctly, the first time he saw Jumin and Jaehee, there was some evidence mentioned… was this it?

Paradise was just a means to an end. It was advertised in their scripture as gospel. However, the organization ran structurally: entry level members on the bottom, completing the grunt work, while others completed the high level work. There were at least three tiers to the hierarchy, not including the Saviour: entry level, consisting of cooking and cleaning, intermediate level, consisting of information gathering, supply ordering, and recruitment, and the highest level, consisting of drug distribution and administering doses. 

This all made sense, in some twisted way. A place has got to have order. However, this doesn’t account for the questionable things Seven’s seen on Saeran’s body, including the scars on his wrists and down his neck. Seven can hazard a guess that the scars don’t stop there. 

The last page of the manilla envelope has discharge papers in Saeran’s name. The words seize his blood and envelope him in a glacial chill before he remembers how to breath. His eyes scan over the words referral. Seven forces himself to remain calm despite his erratic heartbeat. The discharge papers mention discharge from the hospital, but not from healing. They’re suggesting transferring him to a home in the community, a halfway house. It’s already been signed off by the physician in charge of his care and it’s dated for yesterday. 

Saeran was supposed to be discharged  _ yesterday _ . If he hadn’t decided to traipse the countryside with Yoosung, Seven could’ve missed his last opportunity to see his brother again. Without thinking, Seven reaches out and touches the edges of the blanket resting on Saeran. Immediately, Saeran tenses. Guilty and ashamed that he might scare his brother, Seven retracts his hand, mouth feeling fuzzy and dry. He blinks, chasing away tears that threaten to build up. Seven is surprised when Saeran makes deliberate eye contact with him. It isn’t beyond him, or to some phantom that’s stolen Saeran’s sense of reality. Saeran really and truly makes eye contact with Seven. 

There’s a question in Saeran’s eyes. It’s more than Seven has ever gotten from him at this point, and he’s so thankful he wants to sob, but instead he opens his mouth and runs his tongue over his front teeth as if that’s going to solve his dry mouth issue and speaks.

“Saeran, I won’t ever let anyone take you away from me. Never again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writers block hitting me hard, lads. Let me know what you think. ^^;


	14. Chapter 14

Right before Seven left Yoosung’s apartment, he showered. It wasn’t his choice. Yoosung persuaded him when he saw the stains on the shirt underneath his sweater, stains Seven couldn’t even name the culprit of. It wasn’t in Seven’s nature to accept any goodwill, but he had been feeling awfully self-conscious of his body odour. Maybe Yoosung brought up showering at his place because of his smell? 

Yoosung’s shower wasn’t cleaned as often as it should be. It was riddled with soap scum smears, cleaned haphazardly with a swipe here and there. If Seven looked at the right angle, he could see half created shapes, like Yoosung cleaned patches in triangles. It was stupidly endearing in it’s own way. 

Even in the shower, Seven’s mind wanders to Yoosung. Likely because this isn’t the shower at his apartment. This isn’t the shower that he was last in. 

Seven remembered the shower he had recently; the way he touched himself frantically, indulging in sinful thoughts of love and trust. He diverted his mind to new topics.

The thing that differentiated this moment from his memories are the smells of Yoosung’s shower. There are fruity scents, fancy vanilla soaps, and the underlying cloying smell of cleaning products, like he cleaned the shower recently. Seven couldn’t imagine himself using any of these body products, yet it somehow fits the image he sculpted in his mind of Yoosung. It’s funny how a smell can link to a memory, can identify a person. In the agency, it’s all about identity loss; keep things dull and no one will be able to peg you, not even your scent.  

Yoosung’s cleaning habits, his nice smelling shampoo, and the feeling of warm water pattering against Seven’s skin wasn’t enough to halt a film reel replaying their latest conversation behind his eyelids, like he was a short circuiting computer only capable of replaying the same loop over and over. Seven had said some unsavoury stuff; starting with the big reveal about his job and ending with his first blowjob story. Yeah, that’s totally how you get someone interested in you.

Seven didn’t intend for his heart to ache so deeply, the pain invasive as a needle. There’s no way the incorrigible Agent 707 wanted someone like Yoosung Kim to be interested in him. 

Right? 

Seven swiped the soap over his arms and chest. Momentarily banishing the conversation tidbits including stupid crushes and sexual acts, he had actually told Yoosung his job. That might not be significant for most people, but… fuck. He had told Yoosung he was an agent. Albeit, that was based on the strongly anticipated calculation that he’d laugh in his face, laugh off the idea as ludicrous, and then Seven could divert the subject. Sometimes the truth is more absurd than fiction. 

That didn’t work with Yoosung. And that left Seven with the unsavoury job of damage control. He could almost hear Vanderwood’s lecture in his head. “Tell them anything to make them shut up, and don’t get blackmailed, or else I’m taking care of them. You may have a problem with this job, but I’m not you.” Then, a sigh as they reach for the weapon Seven knows they carry, as if to legitimize their story with a bullet in the chamber of a gun. “I’ve been here much longer, Agent 707.”

After the shower, Seven put on Yoosung’s shirt reluctantly, a simple t-shirt. Seven kept his sweater and jeans. The shirt was soft, and smelled like laundry detergent. It carried lingering emotions. Once he left Yoosung’s apartment, he’ll realize that emotions don’t carry good scents, don’t make him feel safe when he’s alone in his room trying to sleep. It’s the smell of Yoosung’s home, clinging to the one t-shirt Seven conveniently forgets to return.   

Seven exited the bathroom sporting spiky wet hair and holding his boxers and socks balled up in his fists. Yoosung offered him a plastic bag for his dirty clothes.They both pretend like everything is completely normal, like they hadn’t shared some type of moment earlier. Seven suspected it’s more acting on his part than Yoosung’s, who looked almost unburdened. Mint Eye was tough, but maybe it gave him some semblance of a path, some harsh reality to inspire him to trudge forward. 

Yoosung offered to make them breakfast, manages to put a pan on the stove and pull eggs out of the fridge before Seven declined. Seven slumped into a chair at the small kitchen table, a bag of dirty clothes at his feet and leaned forward, eyes serious. 

***

Before calling Jaehee, before giving up any of his independence to C&R corporation, Seven locates the physician in charge of Saeran’s care. It isn’t simple. The woman is running all over the place, she has no designated office. She does her patient rounds with the nurses in the mornings and the evenings, so Seven waits by Saeran’s side. 

It’s the simplest thing to do, but it makes him antsy. He shifts in his seat every so often, uncomfortable in the hard plastic. He slides the documents all back into the manilla envelope, like the broken seal can hold back the information within; a simple document that displaces Saeran from the hospital, enters him into a home, and all without Seven’s consent.

It’s because he isn’t legally Saeran’s brother, because he’s abandoned his name and his family. Seven stands abruptly, setting the envelope on the bedside table. Saeran’s wrapped in the video. 

_ “Saeran, I won’t ever let anyone take you away from me. Never again.” _

Saeran didn’t even say anything to Seven’s heartfelt statement earlier. He heard it, Seven could tell by the momentary flash in his eyes, like the backlit LCD screen of a PC that can’t load past initial bootup. Saeran understood right before he shut his emotions off again.

They make eye contact. Saeran shrinks away. Seven’s perplexed before he realizes he’s being intimidating, hands shoved in his sweater pockets, eyes glaring a hole into his brother as he stares unblinkingly, lost to the labyrinth of his thoughts. Seven removes his hands from his pockets and holds them up in an apology. He looks at the empty spot on the bed beside Saeran, then back at his brother. The video drones on in the background and, luckily, it’s one of the ones set to a jaunty tune instead of a voice explaining the artistic process.

Saeran looks like he’d rather focus on the video, eyes darting between the space existing between his brother and the phone and slowly dragging his gaze away before Seven sets his palm down on the hospital bed. 

“Can I sit?” Seven asks. This time the stare he gives Saeran is less intimidating. It’s softer and begs an answer. He ducks his head, slumps his shoulders, looks up from behind his shaggy red hair. Anything just to appear gentle, unthreatening.  Saeran slowly stares at the video, looking like he’s trying to process the question but it’s incomprehensible. Seven gives him time to mull the thought. It hangs between them, this ghostly idea of brotherly trust.  Seven can’t let the idea slip by. Saeran might be leaving the hospital soon, and Seven needs to earn his trust again. Then Saeran swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and nods, quick and curt and fast enough Seven thought he missed it. 

“Are… you’re sure?” 

Another nod. 

Seven hesitantly sits down on the bed, and swings his legs over so they’re parallel with Saeran’s. His brother’s breath quickens when Seven settles back onto the pillows, leaving a few inches between them. Honestly, Seven wants nothing more than to embrace his brother, feel him in his arms and solidify the truth he had spoken before.

Nothing is ever going to take Saeran away from Seven again. 

The doctor walks in, chart in hand. She pauses as she sees the twins on the bed. It looks like she’s considering her mental state, spotting two identical-looking twins on one bed, despite different hair and eye colour. Seven looks up at her expectantly.

“Is Saeran getting discharged?” No time to mince words, Seven jumps right into the thick of it. 

“Yes,” the doctor replies simply. The name tag pinned to her lab coat reads Dr. Cooper. An American, then. Seven decides to switch into English.

“Why?”

“He no longer needs to be in the hospital. I’m having most patients associated with this admission sent home.” She doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Together?” All of the cult members under one roof sounds like a recipe for disaster.

“Apart. It’s Dr. Sum’s recommendation they aren’t together.” A pause. “The psychiatrist.”

“When?”

“The plan was yesterday, but that’s been delayed. Saeran should be moving out today.” 

At that, Saeran looks up. He recognizes his name, unlike the first few days when he didn’t seem to respond to any prompting.The speedpaint video must have ended, judging by the lack of music, and the phone’s screen has locked again. His free hand grips the sheets beside them, like he understands their words. Seven wonders: when did Saeran learn English?  

Would it be overstepping his boundaries to touch Saeran’s hand? 

“Alone?”

“There will be a case worker with him.” 

“Where is he going?”

***

Phone pressed to his ear, Seven paces the short distance between the hospital bed and the curtain blocking Saeran from the rest of his private hospital room. One step. Two steps. Three steps.

The click of the call being accepted. Seven doesn’t even wait for a hello.

“I want to talk to Jumin.”

“Ah, what? You can’t just call and-” Jaehee responds, momentarily losing her professional demeanor when surprised.

“I said I want to talk to Jumin.”

A sigh and  a rustle. Seven hears words being exchanged in the background, but they’re muffled. The phone’s speaker scratches and hisses in Seven’s ear before a deep, even voice replaces it.

“Yes?”

  
“Who approved Saeran’s move?” His footsteps ring out in the silence of the room. One. Two. Three.

“He’s an adult.”

“So? He doesn’t speak. So who approved it?” One. Two. Three.

“The doctors,” Jumin responds, voice robotically even. 

“Where is he being moved?” 

“I have supplied that information to Assistant Kang. Reach out to her for it.”

“Ugh, how long have you been looking into Mint Eye?”  One. Two. Three. 

“What?” Finally, a break in the robotic tone. It’s almost reassuring to understand Jumin as a person, to hear changes of tone in his voice. An idea in his head lights up like a bulb. Wow, it would be easier if Jumin was actually a robot, then Seven could just hack into his parameters and make him act how he wants. 

“Mint Eye. How long?” 

“Some time.”

“Cryptic isn’t going to work.” Seven’s half frantic. He needs answers. Time is running out; his vacation ends tomorrow, and Saeran is going to be moved out of hospital as soon as possible. This is certainly a cause for alarm if he’s ever had one.

“It’ll have to, because I don’t have the timeline you desire,” Jumin responds curtly. Seven decides to trust for now that Jumin isn’t lying. V told him to consider Jumin an ally, after all. 

“What happened, then? How did you know about Mint Eye?”

A pause. 

“I’ll just find out another way if you don’t tell me,” Seven threatens. However, it’s baseless. He’s barely been at a computer since his vacation began. Jumin has been making assumptions that Seven has no problem manipulating.

“Jihyun,” the name comes out with his breath, and dripping with a mix of regret and reverence, a bittersweet combination. It’s the most human thing he’s ever heard from Jumin.  

“Was he… part of it?”

“No. He was trying to stop it… however...” The finality of those words strike through Seven’s heart. He’d been suspecting V all this time, but Jumin is telling him something contrary…? Seven recalls the SOS ping Agent 05 sent out sometime early last year. It was based in Korea, but untraceable. It disappeared just as quickly as it existed, a droplet of water that created no waves, left no mark, and melted into the rest of the noise. Could that have been when he was trying to stop Mint Eye operations? If Seven had answered that SOS, would he have been infiltrating Mint Eye alongside V?

What ifs couldn’t change where they are now. Seven needs answers now; he can’t get lost in his own assumptions. 

“Tell me.” 

“He failed. He… have you spoken to Jihyun?”

“No.” Seven’s saved the phone number, the one Yoosung gave him all those weeks ago. He’s stared at it enough to memorize the numbers, he’s half-typed it in more than once, only to exit out frantically like a teenager caught browsing porn by their parents. Ashamed. 

“Perhaps you should,” Jumin suggests. For someone who speaks with such vocabulary, Seven is astonished to hear warmth in his voice. This man must care for something, whether it’s the victims themselves, or V… Seven has yet to find out. 

“Why are you helping? Is it because of V?”

“Some things run deeper than friendship.”

***

Before the phone call ended, Seven spoke to Jaehee briefly. She agreed to send him an email about the halfway house Saeran is being sent to. It’s a privately owned rehabilitation unit staffed with social workers and security guards. Each resident is given their own room and a modicum of freedom. Chores are shared and meals are had together, like some mockery of a family. 

Cost isn’t an issue for Seven. He just wants to ensure Saeran is being cared for. He intends to inspect this business as soon as he can, but for now, all he’s got for reference is online reviews and their website. Admittedly, it all looks legitimate. The social workers all are credentialed, named, and pictured. Their residents are unnamed and privacy respected. There’s even a small section featuring their creative works; poetry, paintings, cross-stitches, knitting, sewing. They have a list of classes taught to all the residents, designed to teach them real-life skills. 

Seven is impressed, because the half-way homes he had known of were government-funded rehabilitation sites that sometimes proved to be even less enjoyable than prison. Seven has had to hack and forge papers for clients to get people out of places like this. Seven never spoke to his “patrons” (the special word the agency likes to use for their cash cows.) He let Vanderwood deal with the dirty conversations, but pieces have flowed back to him… 

Seven isn’t sure he can let Saeran go to a place like this, but what choice is there? The hospital isn’t an option. His apartment definitely isn’t an option; not with Vanderwood haunting the place on the regular, at least. He doesn’t have anyone else around him he can trust. He has to go back to work, and he needs Saeran to be somewhere secure.

Is this the only solution? 

Seven groans and sets his phone down to rub his eyes. Saeran picks it up immediately and opens WeTube to another video.

Maybe this won’t be so bad. Saeran looks more focused. He isn’t healed; he still has these moments of delirium, he still blinks like he’s banishing evil spirits, but there’s been progress. Seven hesitantly reaches out his hand, brushing his fingers against the back of Saeran’s neck and into that fringe of white hair. Saeran notices, looking over from the corner of his eye like he’s challenging his brother, but returns to his video. 

“Saeran, I love you.” Seven’s said it so many times at this point he doesn’t expect a response. He doesn’t receive one, of course, but Saeran doesn’t shy away from his touch. He lets Seven hesitantly run his fingers through the back of his hair, all the while watching the screen, mouth twitching like he’s about to burst into tears. 

When Saeran bites his lip and turns away, Seven takes that as a sign to stop. His fingers tingle from the feeling of Saeran’s soft hair. 

***

When Yoosung shows up at the hospital, Seven realizes why he noticed the room with the open door and empty bed. He recalls the closed door, plastered with warning magnets. Seven hadn’t questioned it, had been too wrapped up in everything to understand why the puzzle pieces slotted together but created no picture. 

Rika’s room is now empty.

Yoosung’s sitting on the plastic chair beside Saeran’s bed. He doesn’t say much. He sniffles quietly, calls his mother, tells her to relay the message to his aunt, and only sounds more disappointed by the time he flips the phone closed. There aren’t words. Even if there were, Seven can’t weave them like V can, can’t spin an  impossibly sad situation into something worth salvaging.

Saeran catches sight of Yoosung, at the tears staining his cheeks and reddening his eyes. Seven thinks it’s the first time Saeran’s ever truly looked at him, even though Yoosung’s been in his hospital room more than once. Saeran’s green eyes darken with memories, leftover amber specks in his irises glinting like gemstones in moss. Saeran shifts closer as if pulled by the weight of his memories. Their thighs touch on the hospital bed. The twins share a saddened look. The empathetic person Saeyoung remembers, the Saeran that cried when he saw someone kick a dog outside, still exists, because he’s starting to mirror Yoosung’s look. 

Helpless to stop or change it, the boys remain stationary, an unspoken promise between them that they’ll take care of each other. 

Seven can feel it in his heart. Something’s changed. Rika’s gone. Saeran’s opening up.

And at the same time, Yoosung’s in pain. 

 


	15. Chapter 15

When Yoosung excuses himself, Seven doesn’t fight it. There’s a moment between them when Yoosung looks like he wants Seven to follow him home, to offer him a safe set of arms to rest in. Yoosung slumps, spine like a vine without a trellis, when he realizes that Seven’s eyes spell out a hardened truth: Seven isn’t equipped to handle both him and Saeran. So, the moment fills with unsaid words, emotions spilling to the ground where Yoosung once stood.

This is for the best. Seven has to convince himself of that. He can’t comfort an estranged brother and a potential lover. Seven’s turned off his emotions for years; the dam safeguarding his emotions exists to save himself as much as other people. 

“Did I do the right thing, Saeran?” Seven asks his brother helplessly. Saeran remains frustratingly silent and the minutes tick by, accompanied by the beep of medical machinery. Seven watches the video playing on his phone. It’s something Saeran chose and, surprisingly, it’s less artistic now. He’s watching pretty much anything, from WeTuber created content to illegally uploaded copyrighted material. Now, they’re watching some Japanese anime that Saeran found. 

“Should I have gone after him?” Seven asks Saeran, not expecting an answer. Saeran closes the WeTube app, looks at Seven meaningfully, and then shrugs. Saeran’s still avoiding forming words, but he opens the text messages between Seven and Yoosung and starts typing something before Seven scrambles to liberate it from his hands, hoping to God the send button hasn’t been accidentally hit in their struggle.

[Seven]: If you ever need me Imksadnlkad.

Seven reads the message, then deletes it. Types it out two more times using different words.  Nothing truly conveys the way he wants to be there for Yoosung. He doesn’t want to expose too much of himself, but he wants Yoosung to know he isn’t alone. He’s never alone, and if he sees something worthy in Seven, then he wants to live up to that.

There has to be someway that Seven could say what he has to without it being misconstrued. However, that means Seven needs to define what exactly he wants from Yoosung instead of flipping back and forth. 

[Seven]: If you ever want me, I’m here…

[Yoosung]: really?

Vanderwood once told him that he preferred quick responses from him. That if Seven didn’t respond to something immediately, it meant that he was spending too much time thinking. That ultimately leads to Seven, lost in his own thoughts, purposefully and slowly hand picking his words and subsequently selecting out responses for his conversation partner, like he wanted everyone in the world to act predictably.

Everyone except himself.

[Seven]: Really.

Seven clicks off his phone. He hears it ding in his pocket, but he ignores it, tries to occupy his mind and just thinks of the possible responses Yoosung could give him.

Why did Seven let Yoosung go?

Yoosung never asked him, but he probably should’ve. He should’ve gotten angry and demanded answers for why Seven was acting so selfishly. When people are indirect, it creates openings for him to play up his persona and cast a spell of smoke and mirrors, allowing him to exist in comfort, padded between reality and fiction. It’s all fake. 

The Yoosung in his mind also asks him if he isn’t good enough for Seven, if there’s something wrong with the way he looks or the way he acts. Maybe Seven doesn’t like guys with blonde hair, or doesn’t like guys who cry easily when they’re scared, or...

Seven squeezes his eyes shut, drowning out the soft voice in his head that asks why he can’t just commit to somebody, why he can’t allow himself to kiss someone when there have already been several prime opportunities. 

Seven thinks about the way Yoosung stared at his lips, about the way purple eyes darkened when Seven licked them. He thinks about the way Yoosung held the popcorn hostage until they finally snuggled in the movie theatre. 

Words catch in his brain as he tries to formulate a response. A response to his own imagination. There’s no predictability here. Why can’t he control the torrential waves of his thoughts? 

Yoosung’s always surprised Seven, from the moment they met in the waiting room to the hospital unit, edging too close so he can hear why Seven was allowed in while he was told to wait. Then there was the way Yoosung found him in the hospital’s non-denominational prayer room. The way Yoosung continuously pushed himself into Seven’s business under the guise of being in the same unit, the same situation.

Seven remembers how sad he was when he heard that Yoosung had no friends, how hurt and angry he looked when Seven said he couldn’t trust him enough to take him to Mint Eye. He thinks about how warm Yoosung’s fingers were entwined with his own. He knew loneliness. He saw loneliness when Yoosung got close to him, and now... 

Yoosung isn’t like the people he’s slept with, people who would be content to swap his face or personality for something more desirable. He wasn’t a person to them, he was a body. Yoosung let Seven into his bed, wrapped his arms around his waist and offered to make him breakfast, and they didn’t even have sex! He didn’t stumble over the edge of the bed, puke on the floor, and gather his clothing. No words needed for that particular exchange. 

Yoosung told Seven that he liked him. He told him through more than words; he told him through touches, through good intentions, through shaky smiles, uneasy eyes. Nothing is ever easy between them, but the times Yoosung came for comfort, Seven failed him.  

What more does Yoosung have to do before Seven concedes? What more does Yoosung need to endure before he realizes what kind of person Seven is?

Seven considers handing his phone to Saeran, but he isn’t sure what Saeran’s going to do with it. It’s safer in his pocket where no one can touch it. The thoughts don’t halt. In fact, Seven’s sure they get louder. They encompass everything from when Seven met Yoosung, events that didn’t even happen and ones from before they met, ones he imagines Yoosung saying to him; ones that he thinks he deserves to hear; ones that account for every part of himself that he hates. His persona, his appearance, his laugh, the way he craves approval, the way he throws money at his problems until they go away, the way he talks to strangers on the street like they’re poisonous, the way he gets whenever someone tries to pick at the wall around him. Venomous, turbulent, hateful. 

He doesn’t want Yoosung to experience that person.

Seven isn’t the persona he gives to the world. He isn’t the person with a tireless smile. He isn’t a goofball like his tripter account suggests. Yoosung doesn’t know what he’s chosen, and it’s better off that way.

He remembers Yoosung hanging out in the doorway to his apartment as Seven left. Just this morning, but everything feels insurmountably far. 

“I know you can love someone,” Yoosung said in a low voice, a hint of hope as he twists his fingers nervously. “You love Saeran.”

“That’s different,” Seven responded, almost instantly. “He needs me.”

Yoosung pursed his lips, wrung his fingers together like a dirty cloth. Seven caught the nervous behaviour, shoved his hands in his pockets to stop him from touching Yoosung. Seven focused on the sunlight snaking behind Yoosung, bathing the entire hallway like it followed him. Eyes wide and shining, Yoosung nodded. 

“You’re right,” Yoosung conceded softly. “I just want you.”

Those words nurture unkempt areas of Seven’s soul. They tingle inside him, burning like a muscle that’s never been used. Seven scratches his face, fumbles with the sleeves of his sweater. He barely notices Saeran’s hands dive into his pockets to retrieve his phone again. There’s something else capturing his thoughts. He’s on the edge of something important, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

Seven wishes Yoosung were here. That he could look into those eyes and glean an answer for himself instead of relying on these cryptic messages in his thoughts. Seven puts one hand tentatively on Saeran’s arm. 

“Text Yoosung. Um, ask him if he meant what he said at… uh, a-at Mint Eye and th-this morning.”

The mention of Mint Eye makes Saeran drop the phone. Mouth agape, he makes a distressed noise. Seven winces. Fuck. Shouldn’t have mentioned Mint Eye. Saeran clacks out a text message.

[Seven]: did u mean what u said 

[Yoosung]: o… that I liked you?

Then a few minutes between responses, like Yoosung’s weighing the options. From his perspective, it must seem quite sudden. Seven’s been mulling over it for sometime.

[Yoosung]: ya i meant it

Saeran tilts the phone so Seven can read it over his shoulder. There’s a moment where oxygen feels nonexistent, like it’s been siphoned out of the room and he’s left floundering for air.

So, Yoosung meant it. 

There’s information about himself that Seven’s careful not to disclose, yet Yoosung pulled from his lips easily; yanking an invisible thread and unravelling his entire 707 persona. He’s never told anyone his job before; never slept in the same bed with someone, even people he had sex with; never put his trust in another person like he has Yoosung; never seen value in kissing... but he wants to kiss Yoosung. He wants Yoosung to know he likes the blonde in his hair, the way his house smells, the sleepy way he smiled when he woke up.

The feelings burst through like a freight train, leaving him blindsided and dizzy. Seven’s lip trembles. He wants to tell Yoosung that these feelings are worth pursuing, but there’s no point, because he’s… Seven will never be the person Yoosung deserves. Agents can’t have relationships. Agents can’t have family. He’s already breaking too many taboos by being with Saeran. He hasn’t completely sorted out what this means, but he does know one thing for sure.

Saeran and Yoosung are important to him... and he can’t keep working for the agency. 

***

Saeran’s discharged officially that evening. He and his sparse belongings are transported to the halfway home. Seven’s reassured by the way Saeran grabs his hand as he signs his own discharge papers, even though he never makes eye contact. Seven’s given the opportunity to meet the social worker, shake her hand and speak to her about Saeran’s plan of care. 

He’s impressed by how detailed she is. She hands him her business card and tries to encourage Saeran to come with her. Saeran does go with her, a fact that surprises Seven. Saeran hesitates more than once, pleads with his eyes, big and green, exactly how he used to look at Seven when he was Saeyoung. Seven reassures him with the best smile he can muster.

“I won’t ever leave you alone.” 

Saeran eventually understands, stops guilting Seven with his eyes, and takes his first steps out of the inpatient unit. He leaves, but not without stealing a glance at the empty room at the front of the unit, as if he knew that was where Rika was kept. Saeran’s expression was unreadable as he bit his lip and averted his gaze.

Seven understood that look. Saeran’s left a piece of himself behind, much like Saeyoung did on the day he became Luciel. He took one last look at the person he used to be, reflected in the passenger's side window of the car he and Jihyun were travelling in, and said goodbye to Saeyoung.   
In that moment, Seven wonders who Saeran was saying goodbye to.

***

Seven returns to the hospital room. He promised the social worker and Saeran that he’d drop off extra clothes. Since he won’t be living here anymore, there isn’t any need to constantly wear a hospital gown. Seven picks up the clothes Saeran was wearing when he was liberated; leather pants, red tank top, leather coat, and a choker. These aren’t clothes Seven would have thought he’d see his brother in, but he takes them anyway and shoves them in the plastic bag along with his dirty clothes from earlier.

Seven stands in the doorway to the room, feeling oddly empty now that Saeran isn’t around. It’s like the presence that he nestled into his heart is now vacant. Seven’s left feeling hollow, a familiar feeling considering how many years he lived with nothing but ice in his heart. 

Seven pulls out his phone and considers texting Yoosung how he’s feeling. Not about their relationship, whatever that unknown parameter is, but about Saeran. With a hint of wonder, Seven reflects on how different things must truly be that his first thought was to tell someone else his feelings instead of burying them deep inside the chambers of his heart. 

He misses Saeran and he wants to tell Yoosung, but he doesn’t want to rub the wound. So, instead, he invites Yoosung out to shop for clothes with him. Saeran needs new clothes, and Seven definitely does not have enough to lend his. Saeran deserves better than hand me downs, and Seven can finally afford something nicer. 

Before Seven leaves, he makes sure to thank the nurse primarily in charge of Saeran’s care for her hard work, bowing deeply. She smiles at him, all warmth, and gives him some additional information on what to do when he has anxiety.

Turns out, his regular nurses have been helping Saeran calm down naturally, in an effort to avoid sedation and restraints. She teaches him the techniques in case Saeran ever panics, and he tears up, utterly grateful that there’s true goodness in the world.

He’d been encased in darkness for so many years, he had forgotten goodwill existed. 

***

Yoosung doesn’t respond to the text. Seven didn’t expect an immediate response. It still stings, though. He stares at his phone too long. Now that Saeran is safe, he should make an effort to contact V. He finally types the phone number into his phone, fingers only hesitating slightly before pressing call. He presses the phone against his ear as he walks out of the unit, sparing only a moment to glance into Rika’s old room out of habit.

Hospitals discharge patients to make room for others who need care; Seven expected the room to be occupied with another patient. 

It’s not empty right now.

He hears the ringtone first. Then, he catches sight of unnaturally blue hair, a colour Agent 05 always insisted was natural despite its otherworldly appearance. As if appearing out of thin air, the person Seven’s been simultaneously desperate to see and avoiding at all costs stands before him, back turned, cell phone in hand as he stares at the caller ID. Then, he turns as if he could feel the weight of amber eyes boring into him, mouth in the shape of an ‘oh,’ words inaudible on his lips.

Seven hears pure static for a moment. The call opens to voicemail. He hangs up, phone clattering from his hand to the floor as he steps purposefully into Rika’s old room and up to the man whose existence Seven had dubbed ethereal since he disappeared over a year ago. 

“Lu-”

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting.”

“She’s gone! Saeran’s not here, either!” Seven can’t help the way he throws his arms up exasperatedly. There’s something bubbling within him, sparking as it grows with his breath, and it’s fueled by the cauldron of questions fermenting within him.

“People leave traces where they’ve been,” V answers, cryptic as always as he slips his now silent phone into his pocket.

“What were you doing with Mint Eye? What happened to Saeran?” Redeem yourself, Seven’s practically begging. Prove you didn’t ruin the Chois. 

“I… left him in her care.”

“How could you!” Seven’s voice reverberates in the small hospital room, causes nurses from the hall to look in. It must be a normal reaction, since they house volatile people on this floor. 

“You also trusted her.” V’s voice is low, submissive, meek, like he’s accepted failure as part of who is.  

“Before all of this happened! Before she looked at me like that!” Seven shudders at the memory of Rika in the hallway, looking at him with blown pupils, a cheshire cat grin painted on her face. “What about all the money I gave you?” Seven isn’t prone to violence, hates the idea of hurting people more than he has, but even so, his fists clench at his sides.

“Ah, the money...”

“From my cheques. The extra, for Saeran.”

“I…”

“Mint Eye,” Seven speaks through clenched teeth. V said the money was going to Saeran. This isn’t… what he had in mind. 

“Indeed,” V concedes with a sigh.

“Why?”

“I couldn’t stop her…”

A pause. Was that what Jumin meant? V tried, but failed, to stop RIka? Seven breathes in deep gulps, slowly uncurling his fists and stretching his aching bones. 

“Luciel, have you ever seen a white canvas?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Seven scoffs. He’s calmed down slightly. He retrieves his phone from the hallway and pockets it without a second thought, even though he’d usually check to see if the phone is cracked. With everything that’s happened, that just isn’t important anymore. 

V frowns, eyes darkening and turning down to the floor. 

“It’s your name… You chose it.”

Only because Jihyun liked it.

“Stop!” Seven screams. 

There’s a moment of stillness, like the world exists as a tableau, a mere backdrop to this performance. Seven can’t breathe. He can’t believe V’s words. His processing power is already at max capacity, his face is hot with shame. He clenches his fists, swallows the expletives on his tongue. 

“Luciel, I had this dream in my heart that I’m presented with a white canvas, and it’s meant to hold my most beautiful painting.” V pauses, like he’s expecting to be interrupted. When he isn’t, he continues. “A painting so lovely that I wouldn’t regret dying as soon as I complete it. She’s the only person I ever met with a white canvas on her soul. I saw it.”

V lifts his hands to his face, fingers trail around his eyes, down his cheeks. Seven furrows his brows. There’s a problem here. V is looking in his direction, but his eyes are milky. There’s a dark ring around them, the real blue of his eyes, but the rest of it is too light, too... wrong. 

“Your eyes…” Seven’s voice drops to a whisper.

“Ruined.” V’s eyes flicker; he looks crestfallen. 

“Are they fixable?”

“Jumin insists, but-” 

“I didn’t ask that. Are they fixable?”  

It’s even harder to tell what V is thinking, now that his eyes can’t focus anymore. V isn’t even really looking at him, even though they’re facing one another. It’s almost a weight off of Seven, that he doesn’t have those wizened eyes on Seven anymore. 

“I’ve let it go too long. I’ll never regain full eyesight again.”

“Good. I don’t want anyone ever looking at those kind eyes again. I don’t want anyone falling for your lies like I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delay guys. I'm now writing two multichapter fics concurrently. If you like yooran, I recommend you check out my other works. 
> 
> I rewrote this chapter so many times before I was finally somewhat happy with it. I hope you guys enjoy it! 
> 
> The plot is chugging along! The slowest of burns! But fear not, there will be yoo7 development next chapter *eye emoji*
> 
> I really appreciate your comments and reblogs. Thank you for inspiring me to write :3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't had a chance yet, please check out the Christmas one shot I wrote for this series! You can read it [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13121472)

Seven has work to complete before Vanderwood shows up. He makes a quick visit to Saeran to ensure his brother has arrived safely and is comfortable before he heads home to do some additional research on the home Saeran was referred to.

At this point, it’s just precautionary. In fact, it’s probably too much, because the home Saeran is in to appears completely legitimate. They specialize in taking hard to handle residents. Seven is loath to admit it, but that fits Saeran. Seven will need to sort out some payment method later, to ensure that if anything ever happens to him, Saeran will be taken care of. It’s not a contingency plan he enjoys thinking about. The thought of not being there for Saeran again is heartbreaking.

The first work email comes before Vanderwood even arrives, sparse details of a new information request. Seven’s thankful that it isn’t anything too intense. It’s essentially the equivalent of high level private investigator work; find screenshots of shady dealings and present them to the patron. These were intended to serve the patron’s interests only, of course; after all, it’s not like something acquired this illegally would have any merit in court.

The next morning marks exactly two weeks after vacation started and, punctual as ever, Vanderwood shows up with a new contract. They let themselves into the apartment and stalk to the bedroom.

“On time, I see,” Seven comments with a sly grin, spinning around in his computer chair like a classic James Bond villain. It was a missed opportunity not having a hairless cat to menacingly stroke, so he settles with touching the tips of his fingers together.

“Not all of us live like you.”

“Oh! And a tan! You really did go somewhere far, you handsome devil!” Seven puckers his lips and lifts his arms, waving them in the air. Vanderwood rolls their eyes in response; it’s how most of their conversations go. Seven loves the familiarity of it.

“Did you see the job?”

“Yessir!”

“Good.”

There’s a pause. Vanderwood looks around, astounded that the room isn’t filled with pizza boxes and takeout containers.

“You’ve kept it clean.”

“I was taught by the best cleaning fairies imported from Russia.”

“Right,” Vanderwood says skeptically.

“Vandy,” Seven sings. “Do you need me for something? Oh! Have you finally acknowledged your true feelings?”

“Shaddup,” Vanderwood retorts. They look like they’re disgusted by even the idea. “Have you…”

Seven waits. There’s plenty he could say, but the way Vanderwood is scowling tells him there might be something wrong.

“Um, have you had any contact with anyone outside the agency?”

“Hmmm… nope!” Seven sings, hoping the way he swings side to side in his chair hides the fact that his heart sinks in his chest. Has Vanderwood discovered something?

Vanderwood stands over Seven, looking down their noise at him with narrowing brown eyes. From here, Seven can see the curve of Vanderwood’s nose, the way their face always look so smooth, the strong set of their jawline.

“You take your own advice?”

Vanderwood takes a step back, pulling at the ends of his gloves as they flex their fingers.

“Huh?”

“You fuck somebody?” It’s punctuated with eyebrow wiggles.

“I think I told you before I won’t answer questions like those. Just do your job, Agent 707.”

***

Seven’s distracted. He can’t help it. It’s hard to lose yourself at work when time has meaning again. The home isn’t like the hospital; Seven can visit whenever he wants. Saeran’s kept busy during most of the day anyway, and at night, he should be asleep like the rest of the world. Seven decides that he can work through the nights, visit Saeran during the day, and sleep around dinnertime. That’s enough.

***

Seven requests easier contracts, complains that he’s been overworked and his vacation opened his eyes to true zen. Vanderwood rhymes off some official statement stating that they expect agents take the jobs they’re given. Despite this, Vandy seems to oblige, grabbing Seven’s specialty: information requests and server attacks, anything that can be DDOS’d into shutting down easily.

It’s the rush requests that Seven struggles with. Sometimes, patrons pay extra for a job to deliver within a few days. Vanderwood loves those jobs because of Seven’s skillset and that sweet payment. Problem is, it keeps messing up his schedule.

***

After three days, Vanderwood picks up the USB from Seven. They act surprised by Seven’s seriousness, his lack of jokes, and the way he’s hung up his striped frames for the muted black pair. If Seven’s lucky, they’ll just think that he’s decided to buckle down again.

***

Yoosung starts following God Seven, the tripter account Seven manages. It reminds Seven that he hasn’t invited Yoosung out to go clothes shopping for Saeran despite it being over a week since he originally asked. He sends him a quick text at six a.m., asking him if he wanted to go shopping together this afternoon for Saeran.

Seven thinks he hears his phone go off before he falls asleep, original schedule to sleep around dinner time completely ruined. He dreams about Yoosung’s apartment and the way it smells like soup and candles... so maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

***

Seven picks Yoosung up that afternoon. Yoosung doesn’t dress up like he did for their date. He dresses much more casually, but he still smells the same. He seems awkward as he climbs into the passenger seat of a completely different car than they rode in last time, but he stays mute most of the drive.

“Beat the game, yet?”

“The what?”

“The one you were playing last time? When we went to Mint Eye?”

Ah. Probably not a great idea to bring up Mint Eye. Seven focuses on the road.

“Oh… I got farther, but… got distracted.”

“By what?”

“Some things happened.”

Yoosung doesn’t provide context.

***

Choosing clothes for Saeran turned out to be more fun than anticipated. Yoosung seemed gloomy, aura dark as a stormcloud, but as soon as they got into the mall and distracted themselves, he really opened up.

“What does Saeran like?” Yoosung asks, eyes surveying the displays. They’re filled with t-shirts, polos, plaid shirts, formal shirts, vests... really, everything Seven could think of. He looks down at his sweater and jeans and shrugs towards Yoosung.

“Um, you dress better than me.”

Yoosung rubs his arm.

“I wear LOLOL pins. Girls aren’t exactly all over me,” Yoosung says pointedly, returning to the rack in front of them. He pulls off a red plaid shirt and holds it up to Seven, who grabs it and slings it over his arm.

“Girls? Does not compute,” Seven replies in his best robotic voice. It’s a pretty bad imitation. It doesn’t get much of a response from Yoosung besides a weak smile. Seven composes himself, and leans on the rack of clothes. “But seriously, aren’t you g-”

“Seven!” Yoosung shushes him, throws another shirt at his face. “N-not here.”

Oh.

“Got it,” Seven responds, a frown on his face. He knows what that means. “Have you seen Rika?”

That causes Yoosung to fully frown, eyes turbulent. Seven hasn’t done a great job of befriending him this afternoon. Seven had suspected from previous conversations that Yoosung was closeted, but… he supposes it was worse than he thought.

“The preliminary hearing was yesterday,” Yoosung responds solemnly.

And now Seven’s made it worse by bringing up Rika.

“What does that mean?” Seven asks, following Yoosung around the t-shirt carousel.

“It means…” Yoosung sighs. “After this, d-don’t ask me anything else, okay? You’re an…” He looks around, ensuring no one is close enough to overhear. “Art curator,” he seethes. Seven’s thankful Yoosung remembered the codename for his work. “You can find out yourself, right? It means she’s being tried as a criminal.”

“Yoosung…”

“Don’t.”

Seven should ask how Yoosung is feeling. The words are on his tongue, but when he sees the way Yoosung is staring down a heart patterned t-shirt like it personally offended him, he swallows the words. Seven isn’t the best at this, but he can offer something to Yoosung at least.

“I owe you an explanation,” Seven says defeatedly, as he follows Yoosung over to another section of the store. They need to buy Saeran a whole wardrobe, starting with shirts and including boxers.

“For...?” Yoosung asks. The way he speaks makes it sound like he knows exactly, and just wants to pull it from Seven. At least Yoosung’s learning to not give Seven any leeway in conversations, because they both know he’ll just weasel out of the truth.

“The way I’m treating you,” Seven murmurs, feeling like a kid being scolded.

“Yeah, you do.” Yoosung’s voice is so harsh, Seven almost winces.

“Can we… finish this first?”

***

Seven notices Yoosung eyeing a stylish navy blue polka dot dress shirt. It isn’t one of the ones with giant dots, either. It’s sleek and breathable, and feels good rubbed between his fingers. He could probably picture Jumin in it, if he wore anything other than stripes. (Yeah, Seven noticed all promotional photos of him feature one type of outfit.)

This doesn't fit what Yoosung's been choosing for Saeran. Plus, he's staring at it way too intensely instead of shoving it in Seven’s arms like he has all the others.

One look at the number on the price tag and Yoosung’s walking away, returning to the task they came here for. Seven feels guilty he purposefully chose the most expensive looking place in the mall. It wasn’t to show off how affluent he was. Honestly, he should probably be avoiding throwing around cash so he doesn’t draw attention.  He really just wanted to get something nice for Saeran. Saeran deserved it.

As Yoosung’s piling the clothes onto the checkout counter, Seven disappears, grabbing the shirt. A closer look at it shows that the polka dots are actually very tiny stars. Meteor boy must be interested in space. Seven kind of loves that. He’s always liked the idea of space, too, because it represented complete isolation.

Hmm... maybe that's different than why Yoosung likes it. Seven sneaks the shirt into the purchases, feeling devilish that Yoosung doesn't notice.

***

They pass a cell phone stand in the mall on their way out. Seven pauses. Yoosung doesn’t notice and continues walking ahead, sporting bags upon bags of clothing and talking to absolutely no one. When he notices he’s alone, he stomps back to Seven, who, sometime during that time, had selected a cell phone to purchase.

Before leaving, he also picks out a cute pink case with a bashful, cartoon pig on it. He slips the oversized case onto the phone and drops it into one of the many bags of clothes.

All in all, a successful shopping trip.

***

Saeran seems to like Yoosung. He doesn’t react adversely when Seven brings a “friend” over to visit. He's noticed lately that Saeran doesn’t shy away from people like he used to at the hospital. It nourishes his hope that Saeran can heal.

There’s a closet in the bedroom he was provided, so Yoosung and Saeran start hanging up all the clothes they purchased. Seven watches his brother for any particular reaction, but aside from some shaky hands from drug withdrawal as he’s hooking his shirts on hangers, there’s no real response. Seven was hoping to figure out what kind of style he liked. He doesn’t want to buy anything like those clothes Saeran first wore. Seven has no idea if that style would be comforting or triggering.

One look at Saeran makes him wonder if they’re thinking the same thing.

“Do you like the clothes, Saeran?” Seven asks slowly. “Yoosung picked them out.”

Saeran pauses and looks at the clothes hanging in his closet, catching a sheepish Yoosung smiling awkwardly as he hangs up the last shirt and starts folding the pants, blustering about how it was no big deal and he didn’t have much experience with this kind of thing. Yoosung’s talking enough to fill the silence that would otherwise fill the room. Both Chois let him speak until he’s lost his breath, face red from being watched and rambling about nothing.

Then, the corners of Saeran’s lips perk up, half smirk, half smile, and he speaks.

“Thank you, Yoosung.”

***

“Wow, I can’t believe he talked to you,” Seven pouts as they leave the home.

“Didn’t you say he didn’t talk?” Yoosung asks.

“He doesn’t talk... well, he hasn’t talked... to me,” Seven gripes, shoving his hands into his pockets. It’s chilly, but it’s not too cold yet. He’ll eventually have to switch into his winter coat. Yoosung, on the other hand, has already switched into his heavier coat.

“Oh?” Yoosung tilts his head and his flipped hair bounces. “Oh!” He says, eyes widening, then he frowns and looks away. “I don’t see how I’m more important than you,” he comments.

Seven bounces down the cement steps with what he hopes is a carefree shrug of his shoulders.

“Who knows. He doesn’t talk, but at least he stopped calling me names,” Seven says sadly, hoping the wheeze of the wind drowns out his low voice. It doesn’t. Nervously, he adjusts his glasses, noting it was a good idea to switch back into the striped pair. It makes him feel like he's still wearing a disguise despite these eccentric glasses becoming a staple in his wardrobe.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad anymore,” Yoosung says softly in that unbearably comforting voice of his. It always cuts right through Seven's defenses and soothes his heart, like warm tea on a cold day.

Seven considers the way Saeran started trusting him again. He might not get a reaction or conversation, but Seven’s getting eye contact, something Saeran avoided at first. He’s allowed to touch his brother now, albeit in small doses. Saeran doesn’t seem to mind leaning on him occasionally, or letting Seven pat his head and touch his hair. Small steps, Seven tells himself. They’ll get there.

“Yeah, it’s… we’ll be okay.”

“Do you feel better?”

“Huh?”

“You were really stressed about Saeran.”

“Yeah, a bit…”

There’s still plenty to take care of, though.

Seven guides them around the side of the building, a foot trodden pathway fringed by trees. The house sits on a corner beside a small park and forest. It’s a tight squeeze between the side of the building and the evergreens, and needles catch in their clothing and hair. If Seven gets too close to the building, the brick snags onto the threads of his sweater.

This building truly does look like a home, comfortable and quaint. Most importantly, Saeran appears comfortable here, especially compared to the hospital. Seven’s grateful. He’s prayed every night since Saeran reappeared in his life that his transition will be smooth, that everything will work out for the better, and that whatever bad luck the twins had endured would be over.

Seven recalls the way he watched Saeran fumble with his clothes, the multiple attempts it took him to hang one piece of clothing onto a hanger. He never complained, never swore, just furrowed his brows and pressed on. It’s so different from the little boy Seven remembered, who used to cry at the slightest thing. Saeran grew up without him; whatever person he grew into, Seven hopes he gets the chance to truly meet.

“Why’d you stop?” Yoosung asks, looking over his shoulder as he presses forward, hands lifted to hold branches away from his body. Yoosung must have brushed past him when he wasn't paying attention.

“Yoosung, I… I have something to say.”

Yoosung halts. He drops the branches he was pushing and they snap against the building. He turns around wordlessly. Seven grips the silver cross hanging around his neck for strength.

“You like me?” Seven ventures in a hesitant voice that betrays his low confidence.

“Oh, uh…” Yoosung quickly scans their surroundings, but they both know they’re alone. “Yeah.”

“I’m not who you think I am. I usually just show up, and when I’m done doing…” Seven can’t tell Yoosung exactly what he does, so he fills the space with a sigh. “Then I disappear forever.”

“But not this time,” Yoosung points out immediately, leaving Seven barely any time to catch his racing thoughts.

“I… yeah. But I’m not a good person,” he insists.

“You’re a hacker.”

“Yeah.”

“And you know V and Rika…”

“Yeah.”

“Is V a hacker?” Yoosung asks. “I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Are you both hackers?”

“Kinda…”

“You said V was supposed to take care of Saeran?”

“Yeah…”

“Seven?”

“Yeah?” Seven’s leaning against the brick house, ignoring the way the material catches on his sweater. The brick is cold and hard against his back. It’s the perfect metaphor for this conversation.

“Can you please tell me, so I can stop guessing?”

And so he does. CPU overloaded, parameters moot, Seven ignores the panic buzzing in his brain and spills everything to Yoosung; how he trusted V, how they met at church when he was a kid, how they offered him a job doing questionable things to save his brother, how he’d been paying for Saeran’s safety only to unknowingly be funding Mint Eye’s agenda, how V showed up at the hospital and practically admitted his guilt, how Saeran’s a completely different person, and how much he regrets ever leaving his brother alone. It was the worst decision he ever made.

Seven never believed he was capable of hate for anyone but himself. It’s little comfort to realize this capacity, especially coupled with the agonizing way it burns his insides when he thinks about V and Rika and the fact that he used to trust them without question.

Yoosung’s rendered speechless, eyes sorrowful as he stands there, taking everything in. The way his purple eyes glisten makes Seven think about gemstones sparkling under dim light. It’s easier than thinking about the truth settling between them like an invisible balloon, filling with Seven’s secrets until it’s bursting.

“See? That’s why we can’t be together,” Seven says sadly, head hung low. He stares at the frost covered ground, at the mushy remnants of leaves and intact pine needles stuck in dirt.

Yoosung’s still silent, so Seven continues on. “I don’t want you to ever regret being with me, so it’s easier if you -”

“Did you ever ask me how I felt?” Yoosung cuts him off, voice quivering with anger, hands balled into fists at his sides. “Did you ever ask if I knew what I was getting into? I’m not a kid!”

“I… I know. I didn’t -”

“No, shut up.” Then Yoosung catches himself, forces himself to breath. “Sorry. I just want everyone to stop deciding everything for me! You want to know why I chose SKY university? Because Rika recommended it. You want to know why I chose veterinary sciences as my major? Because of Rika. I even dyed my hair to be the same colour as hers because I admired her so much. I always thought I’d get to talk to her again someday, and she’d like the person I was. But you know what? It’s been two years, and she… she acted like I hadn’t changed. And n-now… she’s going to court... and jail, maybe? I don’t know! Everything was hard when she was gone, but it’s even harder now that she’s back and there’s all this shit to deal with. And I kept thinking, why did this have to happen? And, and, and... could I have stopped her from leaving, faking her own death or whatever?” Yoosung pauses to catch his breath. “I realized that this entire time… I didn't make any choices. I didn't choose anything for myself! I… just did what was easiest. What everyone would praise me for. How could I expect to change anything when I don't even try? I’m… I’m f-fucking done with that.” Yoosung takes one determined step closer. “So, don’t tell me I don’t know, ’cause  the first choices I remember making for myself in a long time were with you!”

Yoosung stands strong, just as ferociously passionate as Seven remembers from the first time they met in the hospital. There are tears of regret and anger shimmering in his eyes, but beyond all that, Seven can see Yoosung’s resolve to change, to better himself. Seven admires that resolve.

Before Seven can register it, he’s pulled Yoosung into his arms. Yoosung succumbs and quickly hides his face in Seven’s sweater, and Seven’s sure by the quiver he feels in Yoosung’s shoulders that he’s crying. He can almost see Yoosung’s frustration curling around him like steam. Yoosung’s so passionate, so curious and dedicated, and ridiculously strong considering all Seven’s put him through; hell, considering how much Rika has put him through.

“Yoosung, about Rika... I suspected she was involved, but…”

“It's fine.” Yoosung cuts him off, voice bitter and muffled. “I really, really wanted this all to be fake. I wished more than once that whatever side of Rika she showed me in the hospital wasn’t who she was, that there was something that explained it all, but… now the police are involved, and I saw Saeran for myself, and… I can’t be that person anymore. I can’t just believe nothing happened. I used to be the type of person who’d just make excuses. I’d just keep making excuses for her. I can’t anymore… not after I met Saeran, not after I met you...”

“It hurts me, too. Probably not as much, or m-maybe, who knows, but I… Rika and V… it’s embarrassing, but they took care of me when my own mother wouldn’t. So, I understand, Yoosung. I didn’t want to believe it, either. I didn’t want to believe I trusted the wrong people.” Seven tightens his grip around Yoosung. He feels raw, exposed, and it isn’t from the chill in the air. There are no more words to be said about Rika; it’s now clear they share glaringly similar views, despite having experienced completely different sides of her. The pain in his chest hurts in a cathartic way, like pulling a splinter out of a wound. It’s relieving to know he didn’t suffer alone. Someone understands pieces of his pain.

“Yoosung… can I ask you something?” Seven feels the nod of a head against his chest. “I told you everything, and... you still like me?” Suddenly bashful, his warm cheeks are a contrast to his cold hands.

“You’re really full of yourself, you know that?” Yoosung sniffles, yet there’s no edge to his words. “When will you stop asking me that?”

As if he remembered their close proximity, Yoosung tries to move away, thwarted by the arm steadfastly holding his lower back. They’re almost the same height, so all Seven has to do is tilt his head down slightly. When their eyes meet at such close proximity, there’s a spark of electricity, and Yoosung’s widen like he knows where this is headed before Seven does. Yoosung leans into Seven’s chest, fingers twisting into the front of his sweater.

When Yoosung’s eyes flutter shut, Seven’s brain short circuits. He doesn’t even move, body completely frozen as Yoosung closes the distance between their faces, closes the distance between their lips, breath warming up Seven’s chilled cheeks. Yoosung’s cheeks are soft, Seven thinks idly, as they stand with their lips pressed together.

It takes a moment for Seven’s brain to reboot, and the fleeting thought crosses his mind that Yoosung hasn’t ever done this before; he told Seven himself while they laid in bed after returning from Mint Eye.

So, Seven takes initiative, lips parting. Yoosung copies Seven’s actions, clearly craving something from this kiss. He’s eager, but doesn’t push, only takes what Seven offers him as he leads the kiss, which is slow and unsure. They are both venturing into new territory; Yoosung, experiencing his first kiss, and Seven, sexual experience aplenty, but unversed in romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slowest of burns! 16 chapters for a kiss, damn. Thanks to everyone for sticking with it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW incoming

Seven remembers half dragging Yoosung away after that, getting into his car as fast as possible with a goal in mind: don’t get caught making out pressed up against the building of a halfway home. It was a surprise he could think at all with how desperate he felt to continue chasing this feeling, this calibre of emotion he's finally unlocked.

There’s colossal emotion behind kissing someone he cares about. It’s like his heart is beating so fast it’s making his skin tingle, making every small contact, every brush of lips against lips and jawline sensitive. Everytime he hears Yoosung sigh, a small content sound when he exhales, it overloads his brain with one thought: more. This isn’t like his personal time in the shower, nor is it comparable to the time he spent with mission partners or acquaintances. Yoosung actually knows him. Not all of him, no one knows that, but there’s potential. One day, maybe.

The way Yoosung’s progressing so far, Seven’s love meter is practically half full. Seven’s never met anyone like this before; he’s never met anyone who tasted so… so right; whose small pleasurable noises elicited a sinful greed within him.

“I’ve always, ha-” Yoosung manages to get out before Seven captures his lips again. “You have nice hair,” he manages, tipping his head up so Seven has no choice but to focus on his neck. He’s ashamed that he considers telling Yoosung to stop talking, but he decides to use his mouth for other tasks, trying to fulfill the goal of leaving Yoosung speechless.

This is the feeling Seven used to chase when he fucked those other people, except now there’s a fire inside his chest. His skin feels hot, his mind foggy, and if he wasn’t 100% sure he was sober, he’d think otherwise.

Seven isn’t even aware that his hands have wandered somewhere undesirable until Yoosung pulls away quickly, hands braced on Seven’s shoulders. He looks behind Seven, prompting Seven to turn and stare at the brick wall of the house. No one there. Why is Yoosung...

“N-not here,” Yoosung squeaks out.

Seven gulps, trying to remember how to breathe. When was the last time he was flustered like this? He turns back to Yoosung. Aside from looking a little bewildered, Yoosung… there’s no tactful way to say it except he looks fucking hot, eyes wide, pupils blown from arousal, lips darkened and puffy from Seven’s overeager kissing.

“Uh, s-sure, yeah, okay, can do,” Seven exhales in one breath, and tries not to think about how he completely lost all inhibition for a moment.

Shaky hands fail multiple times to turn over the engine. Driving his car right now doesn’t feel natural. Instead of feeling like he’s donned a second skin, he feels like he’s driving an old clunker, which he himself would consider utter blasphemy if he wasn’t too absorbed in trying to keep his nerves from taking over.

It works... marginally. By the time he rolls up in front of Yoosung’s dorm, his teeth are chattering and skin is crawling. His muscles have begun to ache from the strain. In fact, he feels just as sensitive as before, but now it’s exacerbated by the angry swarms of thoughts he’s having.

Yoosung manages to initiate a goodbye kiss after some conversation Seven isn’t even invested in, and then it’s all error screens inside Seven’s brain.

***

When Seven’s back at his computer desk, he’s floored by how much his life has expanded outside this bedroom. A few weeks ago, he was sitting in this chair, working and listening to that annoying fan whirr like it’s about to disassemble itself. Even though he’s doing the same thing right now, he’s baffled by how distant that memory feels. Saeran’s back and Yoosung’s… here. Things are definitely different. There’s absolutely no denying that.

Seven can’t marvel in that fact or else he’ll have a panic attack, so he gets to work.

***

Ugh. This process is moving outrageously slow. He's watching the percentage slowly rise across the progress bar; currently, it's gaining one percent every 4.19 minutes. He’d usually boot up his second OS to continue another job on the side. This password decrypter wizard he programmed takes so much RAM and CPU there was no way he was getting anything done on without dual boot.

Seven’s thumb idly traces his pouted lower lip. Did that really happen? Did Yoosung really kiss him? Wait, he more than kissed him; they made out. Yoosung played with his hair and called it nice.

Agents don’t technically exist, so leaving any loose thread like a lover or a child doesn’t work. He’s had plenty of daydreams about proving his existence, leaving evidence behind that he wasn’t just some lost undocumented kid who ran away. He wants someone to know who he is, to accept him and want him… and on the likely chance he disappears forever, at least someone will remember him.

To fantasize about it and actually do it are completely different, he notes. It’s selfish. Yoosung doesn't deserve that… to even put that on someone like Yoosung, who’d definitely mourn him, is wrong. Yoosung has already spent too long mourning Rika, who wasn’t actually dead. He’s been destroyed, and there’s no way Seven can put him through the same type of sadness. Maybe Seven’s getting egotistical to think Yoosung will mourn him like he did Rika.

But… that kiss… and the way Yoosung blushed afterwards, pulling his knitted hat down over his face. The way he uncomfortably readjusted himself in the car and smoothed the fabric of his pants down his thighs as if Seven couldn’t tell Yoosung’s pants were tight; as if Seven didn’t think he should do the same damn thing because he’s never experienced a kiss that tantalizingly passionate.

And if Seven wasn’t a horrible fucking person, he’d consider how much danger he’s putting Yoosung and Saeran in by spending time with them. He’d consider how any day now Vanderwood could slam that reassignment folder down on his desk, and he couldn’t even be Luciel Choi anymore.

He’d think about more than the way his dick sits hard between his legs, no longer squished painfully by his jeans, discarded somewhere in his bedroom. He’d rethink using this extra time as an excuse to indulge in his own body as he shoves his boxers down his thighs.

Seven should think about how immoral it is to fantasize about a boy the way he is. He definitely shouldn’t whimper Yoosung’s name like it was a prayer as he pumps his fist up and down his cock while he licks his lips, squeezes his eyes shut, and chases the lingering taste of Yoosung. He’d think about a lot of things besides Yoosung Kim but right now, that’s all he wants to think about.

There’s plenty of things he shouldn’t be doing, Seven rationalizes as he pants, teasing himself with the mental image of a blonde head bobbing between his legs, and those sighs of Yoosung’s vibrating on dick. He remembers the way Yoosung stared at his lips when he found out Seven has sucked cock. Yoosung was thinking about it, too.

He’d probably let Seven touch him, especially when he remembers the shy way Yoosung tried inviting him inside when he dropped him off.

Seven slows down his pumps. A blow job sounds nice, but… that’s not all Yoosung would want. He’d probably want someone to touch his hair, scratch his skin, whisper kind words and fuck. Seven wants to do that. He wants to reassure Yoosung that they care about each other; he wants to reassure Yoosung that they’ll take care of each other physically, emotionally, spiritually. Seven believes Yoosung needs someone to take care of him. Seven hates to admit that he himself has probably needed someone like that for years now. They could be that for each other. In this moment, it doesn’t feel so unattainable. It could totally happen.

Lost to that train of thought, his jerks continue gaining a furious momentum. His skin still hasn’t stopped tingling from touching Yoosung, and it’s making him gasp every time he brushes the over sensitive head of his cock. His orgasm is building quicker than normal.  Seven wants to lose himself in this feeling; the fleeting moment before orgasming where the world melts around him and there’s nothing except the pleasure coursing through his veins, setting his entire body alight. In this moment, Seven can’t stop desperately wishing he was with Yoosung so he could tell him… so he could tell him...

Cum paints his hand and sweater. Seven struggles to catch his breath, gasping in large gulps like fish on land. Nothing feels effective. He doesn’t know why he thought that this was a good idea. His thoughts are a tornado and shit, shit, shit, shit, what did he think right before he came? Oh fuck. Oh no. This didn’t help. This didn’t help at all.

He’s so stupid, unbelievably stupid. Maybe if Seven lies to himself enough, he’ll just believe that the kiss never happened. It’s safer that way.

***

While Seven’s busy cleaning himself and his clothes up, he’s interrupted by the piano chime ringtone he set for messages from Saeran.

Saeran: [attached image.png]

An unnamed image? Ominous. Seven opens it without a second thought and it’s…

Shit. When did Saeran take this? Nevermind, Seven knows exactly when; the more appropriate question is how did Saeran take this? Embedded in that text message is photographic evidence of it... of the exact event he’s trying to forget.

Seven realizes this in horror: that the first text message he will ever receive from his brother is a stealth photograph taken of a blurry redhead with his hood up and a blonde boy wearing a pompom hat kissing each other. Seven groans audibly, dropping his head into his hands. He can just picture Saeran opening the camera on his phone and pointing that blushing piggy phone case towards the window, capturing this exact moment.

First, Saeran tries to text Yoosung on Seven’s phone, and now he’s collecting blackmail to use against him. Saeran is going to be troublesome.

Even so, Seven’s almost choked with relief that he has physical (technically digital) proof that he did kiss Yoosung Kim. He didn’t hallucinate it. He didn’t dream this scenario up, because his unknowingly mischievous twin brother decided to capture the moment forever.

And what makes this whole thing even worse? The fact that minutes earlier, Seven came with one specific thought on his mind: he could fall in love with Yoosung.

***

It’s Saeran’s turn to make dinner this week. Saeran never officially invites him, but his social worker does. Seven looked into her, of course, but she’s pretty unremarkable; some girl who migrated from rural Korea to a larger city once her grandparents both passed. She’s essentially an orphan. It makes some type of sense that she’d work with a population like this.

Still, she has a nice smile. Seven catches Saeran watching her as he chops vegetables, unsure and hesitant with a knife in his hand.

“We can have knives here?” Seven asks when he notices how Saeran’s shaking.

“Huh? Yeah,” she pipes in. “We keep most things locked at night anyway, so we’re not worried about them being used for evil.” She accentuates the last word with a laugh, then she turns over to watch Saeran chop. “Those are really good cuts, Saeran.”

Saeran’s focused, lips pursed, but the praise turns up the corners of his lips slightly. It’s probably the first smile Seven’s seen since he was reunited with Saeran. As much as it makes Seven grateful, he worries about Saeran making new relationships with people. Seven’s spent years learning to detach, but he’s sure cults encourage the opposite of that; unhealthy attachments.

Seven says a quick prayer that Saeran isn’t vulnerable enough to form an unhealthy attachment to the newest woman in his life. He doesn’t know what happened at Mint Eye, but between Rika and their abusive mother, Saeran’s probably extra vulnerable. Seven ensures that he compliments Saeran twice as much as he cooks, despite knowing nothing about cooking. They both give him peculiar looks, but Seven shrugs them off.

Dinner is amazing. It’s incomparable to the microwaveable meals and Chinese takeout he’s been eating regularly for years. It’s also nothing like the ethnic foods Vanderwood comes in to occasionally prepare, even though they’re a master with spices.

“What sauce did you use in this?” Seven asks at the dinner table.

“Nothing special. Right, Saeran?” She speaks for him, beaming across the table with chopsticks in her hand. “I think he just made it with love for his big brother.”

“L-love?” Seven almost chokes on the broccoli in his mouth.

“Yeah? Made with love? It’s an expression. Saeran made it with love for you,”  she responds cheerily. Saeran hunches lower in his seat, pushing vegetables to the corner of his plate with his chopsticks, looking absolutely petulant.

“He’s not… we’re twins, M.C.,” Saeran grumbles in her direction.

It’s not like he’s admitting anything groundbreaking, but it’s the first time Saeran’s acknowledged their familial relation. Was the secret ingredient that made this seemingly ordinary stir-fry into something magical truly love? It’s a silly thought, definitely illogical, but not unpleasant.

***

Before Seven heads home for the evening, Saeran encourages him to download some game on his phone that they could play together. Saeran’s already downloaded several different puzzle games and drawing apps. So when he suggests that Seven download some drawing game to play, Seven isn’t surprised. The surprising thing is that Saeran wants to play this particular game with Seven.

It’s a simple game; one person gets a word prompt, draws a picture, and the other person has to guess what the picture is as they watch the recording of it being drawn. Seven’s awful at drawing. Saeran scolds him for it via text message. Saeran is speaking to people more and more lately, but he always seems to lose his voice in front of Seven. It hurts, definitely. It’s easier to not think about it, because Saeran texts him often enough to make up for it.

[Saeran]: u suck at this

[Seven]: excuuuse me that was a perfect artistic interpretation of a hamster

[Saeran]: what

[Saeran]: ur weird

[Seven]: you just can’t understand my brilliance

[Saeran]: what did u just draw

[Saeran]: I cant figure it out

[Seven]: you gotta guess! That’s the game

[Saeran]: but we’ll lose points.

[Seven]: but that’s cheating ~

[Saeran]: I dont want to lose our streak

Completely mundane conversations like this might seem innocuous to any normal person, but to Seven, they’re akin to diamonds in worth. These moments are why he doesn’t regret pushing himself through the last ten years, despite how difficult they were.

Perfect moments only exist in snippets, however. Perhaps if he no longer worked for the agency… That’s probably the only thing that would make everything perfect right now. With Yoosung and Saeran in his life now, he’s rediscovered what he’s lost. He needs to get out.

But how?

***

Seven hasn’t had the courage to visit Yoosung again since the kiss. He still has that shirt he bought in his car, so he wraps it up in a gift basket with purple tissue paper and leaves it hanging on the door to Yoosung’s apartment.

***

News hits the media. Rika’s preliminary hearing found probable cause for a court case. It’s messy. Twitter is blowing up. Traditional news is documenting public case facts. Blogs are stretching facts and concorting theories, half of which don’t make sense. What terrifies him is the potential for the media to find out about Saeran, to affect his healing by being dragged into some legal dispute. Thank God, the police have been surprisingly tight lipped about the cult members’ identities.

Seven is baffled by some of these tweets:

Cult culture review @cultfacts9004

FUN FACT: leaders of cults are SCIENFICITCALLY PROVEN TO HAVE a larger broca’s area than normal people. #100factsofscience #doctorapproved

 

Doodilibooping @EVillafeurte87

@God7, where’s the cult memes

 

Diamond Hoe @minikraft

What’s all this about a cult

Hackerking420 @notcoolbro

Some chick kidnapped and brainwashed a bunch of people by forcing them drugs and torturing them. There was some sort of hierarchy where she was in charge and they all thought she was gonna save them. Search Cult in Biwon.

Deer me @AdventurousDeer

It isn’t it near Paju tho

Hackerking420 @notcoolbro

Ya well its closest to that

Deer me @AdventurousDeer

Isn’t it closer to Yangju

Hackerking420 @notcoolbro

Uh maybe ? Noogle it

Deer me @AdventurousDeer

Isn’t it closer to Seoul

Hackerking420 @notcoolbro

Are u just fucking w me man

 

Adraude @ErinNoodles

REAL reaction video to the SHOCKING NEW CULT NEWS.  

 

Midnight @Skyyellow7

Why are we not talking more about the fact that this woman knowingly had people kidnapped and brainwashed to join a cult? Where are the profiles observing the trauma she inflicted on her victims instead of this socio-political engagement and botched psychological evaluation?

Ohm Rice @buttrice

K thats cool but did u see the cults name? Mint Eye. That’s just fucking rad.

Bee @ugh__65

Hold up Have u seen this chick? Rina or some shit? She hot AF.

Prose @LikelyRogue

Id let her brainwash me if ya know what I mean  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Scummy @CapitolScum

(° ͜ʖ°)

 

Dante’s Linguini @SOLVE_DMC

Honourary Mint Eye member

 

Botany Infused Vampire @BotanyVampire

I heard she was catholic.. Religion makes bitches crazy man

 

Hayley @notacorgi

So what’s going to happen to her

Unnamed Marshmallow @SmoreEquality

She’ll probably go to jail

Hayley @notacorgi

Naw, we’re all about rehabilitating now

Unnamed Marshmallow @SmoreEquality

Thats bs shes a criminal

Hayley @notacorgi

To us, but she was a god to them, right?

 

A god, huh? Seven stretches in his chair. None of this sounds good, but it’s just the public speculating on a trending interest. This type of media should fade. He’s glad Saeran can’t see any of this. Yoosung, however…

With all these trending tripts, Seven expects to hear from Yoosung. However, his phone remains oddly silent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotional masturbation scenes tho? A known weakness of mine. 
> 
> Thank you guys SO much for those lovely comments. They fuel me every day. I just love that people are enjoying my works.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haven't forgot about this story and I hope you haven't either!

“All rise.”

The masses of people stand at once, wooden pews groaning and squeaking under the collective shuffling of weight. Seven stands up last, slowest, like he’s unsure of his footing. He closes his eyes when he makes accidental eye contact with the priest, a new lost lamb that the shepherd hasn’t properly met. Seven hopes he isn’t one of those priests that tries to talk to his parishioners. Seven couldn’t handle another sour relationship with a Father.

Mass has changed the phrases since he attended as a child, so he finds himself floundering once or twice. He hates standing out from the others, as if his incorrect use of words brands him as an outsider. There’s peace that comes with passing as an ordinary person, and church always offered him this respite.

The priest sits down while others approach the podium. There’s a small boom, someone tapping the microphone as they adjust it to their height, and then they speak: “A reading from the gospel of…”

Now seated, Seven hides his hands in his sweater pockets and slouches in the pew. As long as no one notices him, or tries to talk to him, maybe he can attend this church once in a while to reconnect with God, his faith, the one good thing he had back then. Those times have passed, but Seven doesn’t feel any less vulnerable, any less exposed in public.

God gave him a second chance through church, through meeting V and Rika... and all he can think about is how he wasted it by abandoning Saeran.  

There is a woman with blonde hair who sits near the front of the church. She doesn’t wear a green dress like Rika did; she doesn’t part her hair the same way, but from behind, Seven could almost believe that it was her. He had no idea how it made him feel, but he couldn’t stop watching the way the sunlight from the stained glass windows reflected onto her hair, giving it a transcendent glow.

It made him think of those tripts he saw trending online. Someone had said Mint Eye saw Rika as a god. Was that true?

Along with the rest of the mass, Seven uses his thumb to mark mini crosses on his forehead, his lips, and his heart.

***

Saerans insists on playing that drawing game with Seven. The brothers exchange meaningless messages and hastily drawn scribbles, all the while ignoring the real problems gnawing at both of them. It’s a needed haven. Being themselves in front of each other is exhausting. The internet gives them this carved out space to be together. It has games for them to play and explore each other’s personalities without being in the spotlight.

Seven readjusts the pillows on his bed. He reminds himself that this process takes small steps.

Today’s drawing is apple pie. Despite several failed guesses, Seven’s drawing remains an enigma to his brother, and they lose their streak. He takes his turn guessing Saeran’s drawing as a text message chimes in, momentarily stalling his game. It shouldn’t really affect the phone’s RAM, in theory, but Seven’s overclocked this phone, so he can’t blame it for erroring. Once it unfreezes, he opens the message:

[Saeran]: we lost our streak

Is that a pout Seven detects written between the lines? He can’t help the stupid grin that crosses his face.

[Seven]: its ok ill reward us w pie

A small delay in messages, but then Saeran responds.

[Saeran]: ok

***

It's a month between Rika’s preliminary hearing and subsequent preparations for the court case to truly begin. Like most criminal cases in Korea, it is open to the public. Rika does not make an appearance herself. Seven isn’t sure if that’s because of legal recommendation or personal preference. However, it most likely has to do with the nation sensationalizing the cult scandal.  He’s even begun to see tripts pop up in English. Maybe he shouldn’t be worried, but…

Seven grabs the cross around his neck. God, please don’t let this become an international interest case. The cult members deserve to live peacefully. This type of news coverage won’t give anybody closure, and the twins can’t risk being in the public eye.

All court testimonies have been submitted in writing. The only people who appear in court are legal representatives speaking on behalf of their clients. The crowds of people who showed up armed with cameras and personal cell phones leave disappointed. Someone tripted a photo of a hoard of people shamefully shuffling away from the courthouse with the comment ‘when ur bae aint there.’ Seven snorts. Good, he thinks, fuck them for trying to capitalize on Saeran’s suffering. It’s a self righteous thought, considering he all but threw Saeran to this cult when he leaving him behind.

He continues scanning the articles he’s pulled up; national news, blog posts, international sources, independent journalists, anything he can find legally. No one can know he has enough interest in this case to hack for it.

Still, Seven finds it odd she chose to be tried by a judge instead of a jury. This picture alone demonstrates that she has enough public interest. She could easily have played into that to sway a verdict in her favour.

What is she doing?

***

Seven can’t stop thinking about those tripts trending online. Everyone is so interested in Mint Eye, and despite Seven prompting his brother several times, he remains tight lipped about the whole endeavour. Seven likes to think it’s because he’s focusing on healing, on leaving the past behind him, but he’s hopelessly cynical. He isn’t sure Saeran’s dealing with the reality healthily, and… perhaps he’s being selfish, but Seven wants to reopen those wounds for his brother so they can bleed out together. As it stands, leaving his own wound unaddressed is only making it fester, leaving Seven with poisoned thoughts and unrelenting anxiety.

Yoosung still hasn’t texted him. He’s been oddly silent for days, even though Seven’s noted that he’s rarely offline. If he checks the LOLOLking website, a detailed public log of Yoosung’s activity by his username SupermanYoosung, it documents more losses than victories; a long list of many hours online and likely little sleep or food.

Is this Yoosung’s way of dealing?

HackerGod adds Superman Yoosung on LOLOL. It’s met with some hostility at first. Seven had never explicitly told him what his username was, but when he finds out it’s Seven controlling the oversexualized kitty girl that players have literally swooned over, he retracts his fangs and remains perplexed.

SupermanYoosung: y r u here

HackerGod: can’t lose #1 status

Seven types despite the fact that Yoosung has a negative wins to losses ratio.

SupermanYoosung: sure

And it looks like Yoosung’s aware of that, too. Is it even possible to game in strained silence? Seven very much feels that way, even though the game’s music and character noises fill the space to capacity. After Yoosung’s first successful win in (likely) hours, he begins another chat with Seven.

SupermanYoosung: guess this explains why no1 has ever heard ur voice

HackerGod: ???

SupermanYoosung: why not hakcer goddess

HackerGod: r u insulting my voice

SupermanYoosung: no!

SupermanYoosung: its just weird…

Seven watches the prompt below Yoosung’s online name flash with a mini animation of a pen scribbling across paper. It disappears and reappears several times as Seven patiently waits it out; his own avatar enters its idle animation as she sashays back and forth on screen, hips wiggling like she’s beckoning the player to control her again.

SupermanYoosung: did u know theres fan art of ur avatar

HackerGod: oho have u looked

HackerGod: everyone thinks im sexy~

HackerGod: do u think im sexy superman-hyung

SupermanYoosung: hyung?!?!

SupermanYoosung: ur older thansb em

Even if he can’t see Yoosung, he can imagine the blush and fluster. He’s so transparent, even the way he types. It’s strangely endearing. He’s so open in a way Seven could never emulate.

HackerGod: oh no is cutie-hyung embarrassed

SupermanYoosung: stoooooooopppp

HackerGod: not until u answer the question!

HackerGod: do u think my avatar is sexy-hyung ~

HackerGod: do u think I’M sexy ~

Seven can tell Yoosung’s stopped typing when he notices his in-game avatar start moving through the dungeon. Once they move out of the haven, they’ll be in danger and won’t be able to chat as much. Superman’s avatar transitions out of the screen and Seven has no choice but to reluctantly follow. As soon as they’ve loaded into the dungeon floor, he joins Superman taking care of a hoard of mutant pigs. Yoosung doesn’t comment, and it leaves Seven wondering how much he can push this.

He decides to unequip all of his character’s armor, leaving her in bright pink panties and bra; clothed more than some of her high level armor, but probably scandalous enough to bother Yoosung. He follows Yoosung’s avatar closely, posing sensually whenever he stops to pick up an item and spamming him with voice chat invitations.

Eventually, Yoosung accepts. Seven switches on his mic, a cat-like grin on his face. He can hear the scrape and shuffle of Yoosung adjusting his headset, accompanied by an exaggerated sigh.

“Can you stop doing that?”

“Aww, but you gotta answer me, nyah!”

“W-why?”

“Don’t you think I’m pretty, meow?”

“I…

“If I hack into your computer, will I find saved photos of me, nyah?”

“Wh-what?! N-no!” then a pause. “Can you really do that?”

“I dunno… meow.”

“Seven!”

“Or you can just tell me the truth so I don’t have to find out~”

***

Seven hand-delivers bakery pie to Saeran’s halfway home for the twins to share with MC. She plates herself up a slice and leaves the twins to their own devices, citing paperwork as an excuse to duck out. Seven wonders if she has a good eye for understanding when a client needs space. She’s been doing this a long time, maybe she knows better than anyone else that a sprout can’t flower in someone else’s shadow.

As it turns out, Saeran loves pie. He’s eats one helping in three bites. Did he even chew? Seven’s never seen his brother eat with such gusto. As he’s plating the second slice, Saeran fiddles with the can of whipped cream, not quite understanding how to get it to surrender its contents as he holds it stark upright, creamless air hissing out.

“You’re letting the air out! Here, like this.” Seven gently places his hands over his brother’s and tilts the can until it’s facing the pie. Seven shows him how to use his finger to push the cream out. It comes out as a huge globby mess, pie completely lost inside.  

“Watch this,” Seven comments, grabbing the chilled canister and tilting his head back. He opens his mouth wide and sprays enough whipped cream that he almost chokes. He sits back up, hand poised under his mouth to catch the extra that falls out. By the time he catches sight of Saeran, he’s already stolen the can and is filling his own mouth with whipped cream.

They share a laugh. It’s a tad awkward, a tad explorative as they give each other sheepish smiles, like they’re asking for reassurance that this is okay, that they can relax around each other.

Finally, a step forward.  

***

After the latest trial is over, Yoosung calls Seven. As expected, Yoosung was at the courthouse, and sounds weepy over the phone. He apologizes three - no, four - times, because he didn’t want to rely on anyone with the whole Rika thing, but Seven cuts him off, inviting him for food. Seven picks him up a few streets away and takes Yoosung to a place he recommends.

Despite how genuinely upset he looks, Yoosung doesn’t want to toe the line between friends and makeout buddies in public. He gives Seven lingering looks and stares at his own hands, but doesn’t say much. Most of the dinner is silent. It isn’t awkward per se. It’s safer in public for both of them, despite the fact that Seven gets bristly and paranoid in public places.

This  gives Yoosung the perfect excuse to sit on the same side of the booth as Seven, perfect cover up for him to casually walk his fingers over until they’re brushing the back of Seven’s hand, until Seven has no choice but to accept, lest he look like an absolute asshole to the world’s cutest boy and his sad puppy dog eyes.

“You know, I never answered your question before,” Yoosung mentions casually, head tilted slightly towards Seven. He looks at Seven out of the corner of his eyes, purple eyes darting nervously from him and the glass of water on the table.

“Which question?” Seven asks, trying to keep his voice strong, even; as if to say, there’s no need to whisper. Don’t say secrets here.

“If I liked HackerGod enough to have fan art…”

“Oh.” In public, Seven is much less daring.

“I always kind of thought… Superman and HackerGod would make a good couple.”

***

The way Yoosung stares at him when he drops him off makes Seven’s heart jump into his chest. It’s enough to make him feel guilty, especially since they’ve been holding hands the entire time he’s been driving. Seven shouldn’t be responding this positively to Yoosung’s advances. He knows that, but it’s so nice, so warm touching someone. It’s something he’s always craved, and now that he has it, he feels undeniably guilty.

And because Seven is weak, he lets Yoosung kiss him.

Actually, he lets Yoosung kiss him every time they meet up for “LOLOL.” It’s always discreet; in Seven’s car with tinted windows, in the hallway of Yoosung’s apartment, bodies obscured by the doorway, and… although Seven is ashamed to admit it, in Yoosung’s kitchen. Never in Yoosung’s bedroom. Seven tries to avoid going in there, insisting that he’s more comfortable at the kitchen table.

It’s a self loathing thought, but he’s sure that if he enters Yoosung’s bedroom, he’ll give Yoosung everything, as well as take more than Yoosung’s prepared to give. Right now, he’s vulnerable enough he’d make a mistake.

They’ve already shared ten more kisses since that day. That’s too high of a number for this to be a casual thing. Yoosung’s never asked any further, likely exploring some side of himself that he’s never experienced. Seven doesn’t mind being his guinea pig. The moment when their lips meet, he can pretend they’re dating and not dating simultaneously. It’s comforting to live in limbo, especially when the way forward means commitment.

Agents can’t commit to anything.

Traitor, his thoughts berate him, you’re just making excuses now.

***

As Seven checks contracts off his list, he notices Vanderwood contacting him less and less. The jobs aren’t more complex than normal, and he’s completing them at 80% of his usual speed, so it’s not like Vandy would notice a huge loss of productivity. Even so, Seven wonders if this a lull before a mountain of tasks.

Now that his computer’s processor is freed up, he can investigate that item he took from Mint Eye. Seven rummages through his desk drawers, through the stacks of menu pamphlets and scribbles he wrote for himself when the website didn’t have online ordering. He doesn’t find it immediately, and it mildly panics Seven. Did Vanderwood find it when they cleaned? Did they take it? Was he discovered? The thought adds fuel to his search as he literally tears contents from his desk and off his bed.

The hard drive hits the ground as he fluffs his comforter. The way the plastic cracks hits Seven’s ears with the intensity of a freight train. Did he really drag this hard drive out of the abyss, put Yoosung through a literally scarring experience, to break the only lead on some real answers?

Seven fishes out an external hard drive reader, used most often by him to wipe memory consoles for Vanderwood, despite him informing them multiple times that it isn’t as efficient as destroying the object. Either way, he’s glad he even has an external reader. Otherwise, he’d need to plug this thing into his motherboard, and that’s way too risky. He plugs the external reader into the wall, plugs the second cord into an open USB port behind his tower, and slots the hard drive into place. It whirrs to life and Agent 707 gets to work.

***

Seven is skeptical about the apparent success of his brother’s recovery, but he isn’t naive. Even so, Seven isn’t prepared for reality slamming against him when he went to visit a week later when Saeran wasn’t himself.

Or rather, is himself. The person Seven had only glimpsed when he first arrived at the hospital; a version of Saeran that probably existed at Mint Eye, nurtured by that woman. Those nice clothes Seven had purchased with Yoosung's help had been ripped and bloodstained; torn with his hands, by the looks of it. Saeran's right shoulder, the one he took every precaution to cover up, sits exposed, giving Seven a true chance to look at the skin; a tattoo, eagle eye and artistic curves with a large letter 'm,' misshapen and scarred, and covered in topical scratches that his brother dug into his skin. The skin is red and angry, bleeding and likely sore, but Saeran doesn't notice as he attempts to scrub it off his skin like a stick on tattoo. 

When Seven tries to remove his hand, Saeran snaps at him, pushing him off the bed. It is forceful enough Seven feels the ghost of those hands pounding at his chest as if he thought Seven would hurt him.  

Seven sits on the floor, back pressed against the mattress of Saeran’s bed as he listens to his brother cry, sentences garbled and nonsensical. It shouldn’t hurt this bad that Seven couldn’t touch him, can't hold and comfort him, but it does. It is true helplessness in its base form, like being a child and watching a balloon float away out of reach.

There was no trigger, MC later tells him. Saeran could’ve been triggered by something, but he wasn’t. This was just part of his recovery, and he was trying not to let Seven see it. How often did it happen? Well, she isn’t sure she should be the one to answer that question.

So, Seven settles back on the floor with his back pressed against the mattress, eyes focused on the plain wall and the dresser of the half-way home. Seven listens to his brother cry and allows the knowledge of his own uselessness to burrow deep into his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still unsure of the progression of this chapter. I hope the pacing was okay! Let me know :) Thanks for reading everyone


	19. Chapter 19

This is connecting, right? This is what a connection feels like. The world is plush; all he can feel are blankets piled onto each other and pressed against the wall, leveraging his weight with the weight of the person on top of him. Lips smack softly against one another, only broken by small sounds, hums, whimpers.

Yeah, he doesn’t need to convince himself. It is connection. It’s connection in it’s basest form. It’s what Seven seeks every time he fucks up. It’s proof that he’s not different from...

“Hey, the sponsors are hosting a movie night.”

It’s jarring. Seven blinks, rubs his eyes as he inhales a deep breath. Asleep? This chair is uncomfortable. He should pull some funds out to buy an expensive recliner for this bedroom. He casually stretches his limbs out, listening to the way his elbow pops and feeling the stretch deep and warm in his thighs. Did he spend the night here? 

No… not possible.

Seven lazily rubs his eyes. He looks over at the bed and catches sight of Saeran, eyes glued to his phone as he holds it close to his face. They're both wearing jeans; Saeran favouring long sleeved, thick threaded sweaters, while Seven sports a zip up hoodie. 

Saeran thumbs through his phone, eyes narrowed as he focuses. He must have discovered some new app, but hasn’t shared it with Seven yet. There’s an invisible barrier that steals his words before he can create them. It wasn't magically conjured from last night. It always existed. It just got a little stronger. Seven’s afraid to ask Saeran because he doesn’t know what Saeran’s going to do. He likes to imagine his brother feels the same way. 

Whatever they were building together couldn’t possibly be that fragile, could it?

Saeran isn’t looking at him for a response. In fact, it doesn’t look like he’s spoken, with how his eyes dart across the screen, and the way he’s slightly frowning as he focuses. Saeran sits statue-still, slumped over in bed with a comforter draped around his head and shoulders. He looks comfortable, which is reason enough for Seven to believe he isn’t trying to start a conversation. Saeran always looks uncomfortable when he starts conversations, twitching like he’s itching to peel off his skin.

So, who spoke?

“Did you hear me?” 

“Huh?”

Seven sits up in the chair, hands above his head as he stretches. Everything hurts. Saeran’s bed is too big for just him. Why didn’t he sneak on there? It would've have been more comfortable... if Saeran wouldn’t kick him off the bed. Oh. The probability of that is high right now, isn’t it?

“Earth to Luciel, Saeran’s brother.”

He notices the way Saeran flinches when she speaks his fake name. They both know he’s just playing puppeteer for an identity that isn’t his. 

“Oh, hi, yeah, reporting in for duty,” Seven responds, voice low and grainy from his impromptu nap. He sucks in deep breaths, unable to hide the fact that he was just fast asleep. 

“So… the sponsors are planning a movie night.”

“The sponsors?” As in, like, commercial sponsors? Seven was pretty sure this home was privately owned, but not profit seeking. Not any more than a usual business. He was pleased it was mostly neutral, but... if it’s in the pocket of some big company, then Seven is going to have to relocate the both of them, maybe disappear on the pretense of a 48-hour house visit and steal Saeran away… he disappeared more than once. This time they can do it together.

Only one real issue remains: his employment. Disappearing would be difficult - not impossible, but difficult - with the agency tracking them. Saeyoung already sold his identity to them years ago in a clandestine meeting.

“Hello?” Okay, MC is starting to get annoyed now. She’s waving her hands in front of his face, dangerously close to that wild fringe of red hair he’s sporting. 

“Yeah, yeah, here. Roll call.” Seven doesn’t even know what he’s saying as he stands. “What sponsors?”

“The AA sponsors?”

“Alcoholics…”

“Anonymous, yeah.”

“Who are they sponsoring?” 

Wait.

“Why does Saeran need it? He isn’t a-”

She chuckles, hand on her hip. Seven snaps his mouth shut. 

“You really don’t know anything about this, do you? NA is part of AA, so it accepts people like Saeran, who were on… stuff, y’know?” She runs a hand through her dark hair, silky and ink black. Her bangs stick up comically, but she owns it, casually gesturing as she speaks. Her body language is unthreatening and open. She isn’t mocking him, she’s just amused. Her eyes glitter when she smiles, the corners crinkling the same way their mom’s used to. It isn’t hard to guess why Saeran responds so well to the way she acts. He’s already perked up from her voice, phone lowering subconsciously.

“Anyway,” she continues on. “Now that you’re awake from your beauty sleep. Saeran’s been going since he moved here. I asked him if he was ready and he decided on his own he wanted to try. Not everyone gets sponsors, because it’s a volunteer thing, right? But we got lucky, I guess. Saeran made a friend.”

“What? Who’s your friend?” Seven’s voice quivers with disbelief, bordering on a whisper. He slings one knee onto the mattress, pressing his weight into it as Saeran clenches his jaw. It’s clear he didn’t want to talk about this. He looks like a teenager who just had a secret spilled, like he was hiding something embarrassing behind his parents’ backs. 

“It’s no one,” Saeran responds curtly, lifting his phone to cover his face as a type of defense. 

“Saeran…”

“Anyway,” MC sings, leaning into the conversation with her entire body. “The sponsors are hosting a movie night. They’re bringing snacks and whatever. I was gonna make marshmallow popcorn. Saeran found me the recipe on some recipe book ap.” She gestures to Saeran with her thumb, then grins innocently. “You coming, bud?”

“Uh,” Seven looks over at his brother, then to MC, and shrugs. He wants to come. He’s honestly ecstatic and more than a little curious who this mystery friend might be. Seven lowers himself onto the bed slowly, testing how his brother responds, but aside from the way Saeran pulls the comforter tighter around himself, he remains still.

“It’s nothing,” Saeran murmurs, lowering his phone. The display is showing an apple pie recipe. Cute. He’s really enjoying cooking. Seven’s heart aches. Despite it all, Saeran’s still so innocent. 

“Do you want me to come?” Seven ventures. 

“I don’t care.”

“I can leave you alone if you want. Make this your thing. I don’t mind.” He definitely doesn’t want that, but like MC told him, he has to give his brother space. 

“Dunno...”

Seven gently tugs at the comforter wrapped around Saeran, waiting for him to give up some loose fabric so he can weasel his way into the covers, shoulders touching. Saeran tenses, awkwardly leaning his body towards his brother while his chin rests on the opposite shoulder. Defiant until the end, even though he wants to cuddle.    
“I’ll do whatever you want, Saeran,” Seven whispers, somehow feeling like they’re kids again, sharing a blanket like this. 

“You can come, I guess.”

***

An hour later, MC boots Seven out of the house so they can set up for the movie night. She casually hands him a grocery list with a cheshire cat smile on her face, telling him to be an amazing big brother and bring these supplies back before he heads home.

The list includes marshmallows, popcorn kernels, butter, and candy, among others. It’s as if she just wrote everything down from that recipe Saeran gave her. Seven shakes his head wryly as warmth blossoms in his chest. She’s not their mom, but she’s really something. Seven raises two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute.

“Aye, Aye, Cap’n.”

“Hey,” she calls back to him. Seven halts as he hops down the concrete steps, looking back over his shoulder. “Saeran’s a good person. I can tell.”

This woman is an enigma. Intuition and charisma wrapped up in an average looking package, her hair long and bangs hiding her forehead and eyebrows. For all that hair compromising her eyesight, her insight is predatorily sharp. She shoots him finger guns as he contemplates her, winking one eye like she’s aiming and says:

“Bingo.” 

She knew what Seven wanted to hear. He hadn’t told anyone what he discovered on that hard drive he had salvaged from Mint Eye. It had barely been off his mind since he uncovered it.

“You really think?” Seven asks, seeking reassurance like a puppy craves positive attention. 

“I’ve met a lot of people, so I know,” she says with a flick of her wrist, pushing that  hair out of her face and off her shoulder. Her eyes are illuminated and genuine without those bangs covering her face. “He’s genuinely good.”

***

“It’s gross as fuck in here. Are you just jacking off all the fucking time?” 

It’s quite the entrance. One that makes Seven look over from his bright computer screen, eyes burning as he remembers to blink for the first time in god knows how long. His glasses slid down his nose, so he stares at Vanderwood over the striped frames. Chopsticks sit idle on his lips, a chicken ball inches away from entering his mouth. Vanderwood must be referring to the mountain of used tissue sitting on his bed and the floor, trodden beneath the plastic wheels of his computer chair. 

This is the one time Seven is glad that screens cause red eyes, because most of those soggy tissues are from crying, sure, but there’s some from masturbating, too. He can’t stop thinking about Yoosung, and the way he sounded last night, and the way he tasted. It distracts his focus like a fly crawling all over his computer screen. It demands his attention in the most annoying way, and he can’t just ignore it. 

If he just keeps himself satisfied with that one clandestine experience, with his hand replacing the memory of Yoosung, then it’s manageable. He can ignore the way he feels his innards rot every time he cums. 

Even so, Vanderwood got it correct, and Seven can’t help the way his cheeks flare. 

“Fwwwhat?” Seven speaks between mouthfuls of food, drowning his chow mein in soy sauce with the giant bottle he picked up from the supermarket. It’s way more efficient than the little packets they shove into the delivery bag. 

“Where have you been going?” They ask, striding into the room. The light from his bright computer screens catch on Vanderwood’s face in the most ominous way, all hard lines and darker eyes.  

The statement frightens Seven, and he inhales without thinking, drawing air to defend himself, and food suctions to the back of his throat. He coughs, spitting his chewed food into his napkin as he attempts to breath again. 

“Babe, I…” He coughs again. “I... d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seven responds, voice casual as he pushes his glasses back up his face. He readjusts the chopsticks in his hand and pulls long chow mein noodles from the styrofoam container.

“I’ve been your handler for a year, and I’m not stupid.” It’s so matter of fact Seven feels like he could burst into tears. There’s an opportunity to seize the low hanging fruit - to tell Vanderwood that Seven’s surprised they aren’t stupid, but he holds back on jokes for right now. They’d backfire anyway. 

“Started saving money by picking up food instead of delivering. It’s so expensive, y’know?” Seven responds quickly, twisting the noodles around his chopsticks. He shoves the entire bundle of twirled noodles in his mouth, blinking slowly like he’s tired of this conversation. 

“Agent.”

“Ms. Vanderwood,” Seven purrs, voice gravelly.

Vanderwood puts their hand on their hip, the other hand resting on the desk to give them that perfect leverage to make them look taller than they actually are. They lean over Seven slightly, their usual intimidation tactic as he sits cross legged in his computer chair. Seven skewers a chicken ball with his chopsticks and holds it up to Vanderwood, like an offering to a malevolent god. Vanderwood narrows their dark eyes.

“What have you been doing?” 

“Started going for drives in my babe so everyone can see her shine! I got her polished, did you notice?” After speaking, Seven swallows nervously. The chicken ball wobbles on its perch, the breading threatening to tear under the weight of the chicken and the uneven way he skewered it. 

“I noticed the scratches,” Vanderwood points out matter of factly. “Where did you scratch her?” They emphasize the final word, even though Seven knows they think gendering cars is stupid.

“Ah…” Seven closes his eyes as he remembers the way the tree branches scratched against the side of the car as he drove in through the backwoods on their way to Mint Eye. He should have checked her for scratches. In fact, he should have switched out cars. But with everything else on his mind, the thought of digging into the identities he stored these vehicles under would have taken too much time. Seconds pass in silence as excuses fall out of Seven’s brain, trickling off into the void like an ethereal waterfall. It’s long enough for Vanderwood to fill the silence with an annoyed huff.

“Whatever.” Vanderwood snatches the chopsticks, still held in front of their face. “Here.” They fish inside one of the inner pockets of that cheetah print lined leather coat, pulling out an elderly touch phone. “Reprogram it.”

“Where’s the USB?” 

Basically their speak for, who’s the job for? Where’s the supporting documents? What’s the pay grade? It’s a pleasant break in the conversation. 

“None.” 

“Huh?”

“It’s internal.” 

“Huh?!”

“Look, just make it untraceable.” Vanderwood shoves the chicken ball into their mouth. Seven turns over the phone in his hand. The screen is cracked in the corner, and the power on button sticks as he boots up the phone. It isn’t the best model. Seven pulls open one of his desk drawers, searching for a replacement screen. It won’t be the right fit, but he can cut it to size. 

“That’s not how it works,” he says idly, used to explaining these types of things to Vandy. He pulls out his toolkit, not much bigger than the size of a pocket sewing kit, and sets the phone down. “If it connects to any tower, it’ll be traceable in some way, but I can encrypt the signal it sends, so, in theory, it’s hard to trace, but to make it untraceab-”

“Shut up. Just do it.” They drop the chopsticks in the takeout container. 

“Why?”

“Why?” They repeat, gloved fingers threading through golden brown hair. A disarming smile crosses their face, wry and accepting, like a person on the brink of destruction. It chills Seven’s ribcage, heart fluttering like a panicked moth. Then they slam their hand down on the table, the shockwave vibrating his screens and PC tower, causing that loose fan in his PC tower to angrily scratch against something before slowing down into a consistent hum. Vanderwood gets real close, eyes narrowed and incomprehensible in the dim light. 

“You better not fucking repeat this.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW incoming *eye emoji*

[Seven]: what time tonight

[Saeran]: 8

[Seven]: okay

[Seven]: ru sure you’re okay with me coming?

[Saeran]: ya

Seven arrives at the house at 7:30 p.m., ensuring he has enough time to talk to his brother before people arrive. He knocks on the door, but no one answers, so he gently turns the doorknob and peeks his head inside the house.

“Hiya!” MC pops in, chip bags propped under her arm as she holds a jug of sparkly juice. She points to the living room. “They’re in there.”

They? Seven is early. How is everyone here already? He softly pads over to the living room.

Saeran is sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest along with a fluffy pillow. He doesn’t have his phone out for once, and his face is neutral as he engages in a one sided conversation with his ‘friend,’ the other filling the silence Saeran leaves empty.

It’s a curious thing, watching Saeran genuinely listen to another person. His cheek is resting on his knee, his head is tilted, and his eyes are crinkled like he’s about to smile, but doesn’t. He looks amused and relaxed, despite that crunched up posture he’s contorted himself into. His green eyes are strikingly illusory underneath the dark eyeliner he applied.

“Luciel, come meet Saeran’s friend,” MC says cheerily,  brushing past him and waving him down with the DVD case she’s holding. Her entire face is made up as well, deep purple smokey eyeliner making her brown eyes pop. He hadn’t noticed earlier. It looks like her and Saeran had a makeup session. It’s ridiculous that Seven feels jealous, knowing he can apply makeup just as good as either of them and he wasn't invited.

Saeran’s head snaps up when he hears his brother’s alias and they make awkwardly charged eye contact. Seven forces himself through a half smile, eyes drifting over to the tall stranger leaning on the couch’s armrest.

The stranger turns around, big smile and perfect posture. He’s wearing a fashionable white coat with an insignia Seven doesn’t recognize on it. He runs one palm over the side of his head and slightly down his ponytail before presenting that same hand to Seven.

“The brother! Saeran’s mentioned you. I’m Hyun.” Hyun beams an award winning smile, that of a handsome young actor Seven recognizes from polaroids.

“Zen?”

It isn’t exactly the face he recognized. He looks tired compared to the rising star photographs Seven pilfered to start that Tripter all those years ago. It was one of his first real jobs, the agency testing whether or not he can handle a simple algorithm with basic AI sequences to create unique sentences to caption each image. The man blinks, taken aback.

“O-oh.” Hyun drops his hand before Seven has a chance to take it. “That’s my stage name - was, I mean. Not that person anymore.”

The room settles into a prickly silence, and Hyun pauses as if he’s waiting for someone to butt in and explain exactly why he dropped his stage name. Hyun sighs and dons a weary smile.

“Got really famous for a few seconds. People noticed, but I guess I’m surprised you recognized me? I’m not acting for… like, movies anymore. Just, just productions.”

“You’re Saeran’s sponsor?” It’s not like Seven isn’t interested in Hyun’s past, but he’s more interested in how they know each other.

“Was in the program a year ago. They bring me back to tell my story because I’m still a big name, I guess. Washed up, but sober, and apparently that’s a success.” Hyun pauses, then nervously adds. “Never sponsored anyone before. Saeran’s my first.”

“Why?” Seven finds himself blurting as Saeran’s eyes widen in horror.

“Uh,” Hyun looks embarrassed as he’s put on the spot. “It makes me look totally bad, but I stopped being a selfish asshole and, like, realized I could help other people. All it costs is my time, and anywa-”

“It’s fine,” Saeran interrupts. “You don’t have to explain it to him.”

Hyun closes his mouth and offers an apologetic smile before shuffling away, circling the room awkwardly. Seven stares at his brother, jealousy burning like smouldering embers. As if. Saeran hasn’t been in this home for more than two months and he’s already made a real connection. All Seven has is…

The doorbell rings, so Seven shimmies over the back of the couch and settles beside Saeran as he grumbles about being pushed out of the way by wayward legs and feet.

“Just friends, right?” Seven whispers, and Saeran scowls in response. Seven sighs, then turns back to look over his shoulder. Hyun has left the room to presumably answer the door, and in front of him MC is fiddling with the DVD player.

“You know about his past, right? You know he assaulted Ech-”

“Acquitted,” Saeran cuts in, a sword slicing through Seven’s weak words. Based on the expression on Saeran’s face, Seven should consider himself lucky he wasn’t torn in two. “Falsely accused.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Saeran catches sight of Seven’s dubious look, then sneers, scrunching up his nose and peeling back his lips to expose his teeth. “It was reported publicly.”

“Hm.”

“Echo Girl’s agents paid out.”

Seven’s not convinced. He’s about to respond when a voice from beyond the kitchen graces his ears; soft spoken, hesitant, but enthusiastic. He recognizes it immediately. He perks up like a dog hearing its owner, then turns his unimpressed, petulant gaze towards his brother.

“You…”

“Yep,” Saeran responds, arms crossed and settled over his chest as he slumps on the couch. With the dark eyeliner and slouched posture, he looks every bit the smug child. Conversation over; Saeran won. Seven holds whatever words he has for Saeran when he sees Yoosung enter the room, a blinding smile on his face.

What’s even more striking is that Yoosung decided to wear the shirt; the one Seven stealth bought him, the one Seven was too afraid to give him directly so he left it hanging on his door. It’s form fitting, the dark blue a perfect contrast to that sun bright hair, like dark water and bright sunlight. He’s a walking contradiction, and Seven’s heart pounds uncomfortably as they lock eyes, a deep spark of understanding between them.

Oh. Fuck.

For all the awkward conversation pre-movie, everyone quiets down as soon as it begins. MC passes around two bowls with napkins: one filled with that cheese flavoured chips, and another with a healthier alternative of veggie. She didn't even make the damn popcorn recipe she sent Seven to fetch ingredients for. Normally that wouldn't piss him off, but today's different.

Hyun refuses both and sticks to his water bottle. Hyun is a friendly person. Honestly, he isn’t the type of person Seven had pictured when he was given that job all those years ago. He had expected this air of narcissistic confidence, like a man who used his appearance to sell his talent. Instead, Hyun is casual, relaxed as he drapes one arm over the back of the couch, leaning that broad chest towards Saeran.

Saeran doesn’t really react to it, thumb pressed between his lips as he focuses on the movie. Seven’s watching intently though, eyes narrowed as he assumes the protective big brother role. He had a hard enough time accepting MC in their lives when he saw the way Saeran looked at her, and now he’s directing that jealous energy towards Hyun. He half expects it to be radiating off him in vibrating squiggles.

Naturally, it comes as a shock when Yoosung tentatively brushes the back of his hand and links their hands together. Seven sits up straight and partially pivots his body, catches sight of Yoosung’s perfectly flipped hair and his shy smile reflected with light from the screen. It’s so wonderfully adorable and wholesome that it makes Seven grit his teeth. He squeezes Yoosung’s hand in return, then tries to focus on whatever movie is playing.

The entire time though, he can’t stop his mind from electrifying every small sensation of skin against skin.

No, he didn’t fall asleep at Saeran’s overnight, because last night he...

_Curtains closed tight, bed an unmade mess as they hurried to peel the blankets off and shove them in an unused corner. The motion was so deliberate, yet idle as they focused more on each other, keeping close proximity even as Seven’s back hit the mattress. The room was dark, light from Yoosung’s desk lamp and computer screen providing only sparse illumination to his bedroom. It created pockets of darkness, perfect for Seven as he slid comfortably into one and dragged Yoosung with him._

_Yoosung complied, pliant and nervous as he climbed over top of Seven. Seven grounded his hands on Yoosung’s hips, pulled him up when apprehensively he settled too low on his thighs, as if he was afraid of their hips touching._

Seven’s palms feel sweaty locked with Yoosung’s. Saeran passes him the bowl of chips and it sits on his lap as he stares down at it. This isn’t his favourite kind. He uses it as a reason to liberate his hand as he wiggles out of the hand hold.

_Seven traced his fingers up the back of Yoosung’s neck and pulled him into a rough kiss, encumbered only by the headset still fitted around Yoosung’s head. Frustrated, Seven yanked it off and threw it somewhere in the room, muffled voices of “Superman, the raid boss!” screaming and crackling through the mic._

_Neither of them truly heard as it faded into comfortably buzzing background noise. Yoosung experimentally rutted his hips, body rocking as a reaction to their kisses. Another body pressed against him was intoxicating. It was like an addict's first high; Seven's been chasing this feeling his entire life. He knew what he wanted: love, and trust, and comfort, and he felt it all as Yoosung explored his mouth._ _Their teeth clacked, but they could not be dissuaded in the slightest from their inexperienced kisses. This feeling was real, and perhaps, they both knew it._

_Seven drank in that taste, swallowed the moans feverishly, as if they’d be the last time he ever experienced it. Yoosung was barely breaking between kisses, stealing Seven’s air until they were both left breathless. He didn’t really care. On some level, he was aware just how much he was robbing Yoosung of in this moment, and if all Yoosung took in return is his breath, his body, an orgasm… Seven decided he could allow that._

_As Yoosung gained his confidence, rocking back and forth, he braced his palms on Seven’s chest, fingers splayed and nails digging through the shirt. Yoosung whimpered, kiss ending unceremoniously as his breath puffed against the shell of Seven's ear. His attention had shifted, and Seven can't complain as their bodies rubbed against each other._

_Seven had come to visit in the middle of the night. It was no surprise Yoosung was in comfortable clothes. Yoosung’s body beneath those thin pajama pants does nothing to hide his excitement. The thought that Yoosung found Seven desirable seized his control. Seven lifted his hips as Yoosung cants, all pretense of being a passive participant forgotten as he truly felt the way Yoosung shuddered. There was no room for words, just heavy pants as Seven slipped his hands under Yoosung's button up pajama top._

_It slipped over his head easily when Yoosung sat up, eyes locked on Seven's, lidded and hypnotized by lust._

Seven can’t help the way he licks his lips, a perfect mirror of the way he did last night. Except this time his lips don’t taste like borrowed saliva, they taste like cheese chips. He darts his eyes over to Yoosung quickly, and tries not to focus on their thighs brushing together. He remembers the way his eyes slid over Yoosung’s bare chest.

_He looked just like Seven had pictured; thin, but not in an uncomfortable way, his tummy tight as he inhaled and plush as he exhaled. Yoosung covered his face with his hands, a moment of clarity in a blurry world, then he folded back over Seven._

_Seven pressed him back again, encouraging Yoosung to lift back on his knees. It was difficult to peel him away from bite swollen lips, but he obliged, whining for a completely different reason. His erection sat taut between his legs, checkered pajama pants tented noticeably. Seven chose to focus on Yoosung’s face and eyes; the dark way they looked at each other. He wants to memorize this moment, encode it so deeply that it overwrites all the bad. It’s a sinful look, especially as Yoosung tugged Seven’s hand down from his hips and into the small opening where his PJ pants pulled away from his body._

_Seven's mouth hung open, greedily watching the innocent, flushed boy who straddled him and practically shoved Seven's hand down his pants. Seven set his jaw, a question in his eyes that read: are you sure about this?  Yoosung didn’t nod; he closed his eyes and tilted his head back like he was awaiting serenity._

_It was all the permission either of them needed._

_Yoosung’s skin was heated, making Seven’s hands feel chilly, and they both breathed in deeply at the same time as tentative fingers wrapped around Yoosung's cock. The elastic of the waistband made it difficult to twist his wrist the way Seven wanted to. Yoosung didn’t notice, though, eyes closed and attention focused solely on the hand wrapped around him._

_As Seven continued his slow, purposeful strokes, Yoosung leaned forward, apparently unable to keep himself upright. He braced a hand on Seven’s stomach, just under his ribcage. He shifted his hips, knees widening, thighs tight as he opens himself up more._

_Various phrases leaked out of Yoosung’s mouth, stutters and moans and swallows. The position made it hard for him to rut into Seven’s fist, but he tried, that hand on Seven’s stomach digging in painfully. Seven chose not to mention it, letting Yoosung continue chasing his release with a fervent number on his tongue._

_Seven. Seven. Seven._

_It took Seven longer than normal to realize it’s his name; the name he asked Yoosung to call him. It was better than Luciel, yet he still had the self-awareness to feel shame. He hurried his strokes, torn between milking the experience and rushing to complete it._

_It was near impossible to keep his hips still as he stroked Yoosung, his body feeling unbearably hot completely clothed. Finishing this quickly was the best option. The entire time, Seven was walking the razor's edge between a quick handjob and lifting Yoosung up a little more and letting him fuck Seven’s face._

It would have been easier if he had kept his mouth shut last night. Then, he wouldn't have talked Yoosung through it. Seven wouldn't have said the sweetest things to him as Yoosung came with a shudder, eyes fluttering closed demurely. 

Seven jerks when Yoosung reaches for a handful of chips. They share an awkward exchange as Seven tries to play off his skittishness as intense concentration. It’s unsuccessful when he sees Yoosung’s ugly frown. In a moment of panic, Seven shoves the entire bowl onto Yoosung’s lap and pulls out his phone, claiming he needs to make a phone call.

His vision tunnels until he’s seated on the cold cement steps of the entryway. The chill of the night air makes it impossible to feel hot. With elbows rested on his knees, he cradles his head in his hands as the scene from last night replays in his head.  
  
Because back in that bedroom, in that perfect slot of darkness that they occupied, Seven let these words leave his lips: "Yoosung, I'm..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone likes it? >//< As much as I practice with NSFW stuff, I always get a little worried about the quality.


	21. Chapter 21

_The last time he saw V, it was in that empty hospital room. The bed had been moved, presumably for cleaning, so they stood in the centre of the room, the excess space filled with the emotions twirling around Seven like an angered poltergeist. He felt suffocated in the presence of this man._

_“Whatever happens,” V had begun in his smooth baritone, weaving those words into a song to placate an angry spirit. He had stepped closer, close enough that Seven could hold him like he used to when he was younger. More than anything, though, he wanted to grab V by the collar and shake him. He wanted to blame him for all the evil on his hands and conscience. Instead, his nails cut into his own palms until his fists shook._

_“Stop,” Seven whispered, silently enraged. He didn’t want to hear whatever advice V had chosen to impart with that charisma Seven had always admired._

_The next words Seven heard left him with a metallic taste in his mouth, sterile like a wiped down murder scene; the perfect metaphor for them, their work._

The cement steals the heat in his legs and butt as he continues to sit on the steps. He hears the door shift as someone fiddles with the knob and then a pop as it opens but he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even move until he sees sneakers in his line of sight and feels a body settle beside him on the cement.

Seven sucks in a deep breath. He doesn’t even need to check to know it’s Yoosung. There’s something about his presence that Seven can pinpoint perfectly each time. Unthreatening yet expectant; everything Seven would need to flourish positively exists under that encouraging smile. He wants it so badly, but instead, he says:

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Surprisingly, the pause is comfortable. Yoosung expected this.

“Are you… are you scared?” A weak chuckle escapes Yoosung. “I’m scared, too, Seven.. but-”

“I can’t do this. Saeran needs me.” Seven cuts in, ignoring Yoosung’s question, and whatever words he had to convince him otherwise. It feels like the entire world can see through such a weak lie.

“Didn’t you see him? He needs all my attention,” Seven continues.

“I saw him,” Yoosung agrees solemnly. “He’s got friends, like Hyun and MC, who’s… well, his friend too, and…” Yoosung scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Me.”

“You?”

“Yeah, I’m his friend. That’s why he invited me.”

“Did he say I was going to be there?”

“That’s… “ The pause tells Seven what he needs to know. Saeran invited Yoosung on Seven’s behalf, likely under some misguided attempt to force fate. “Seven, do you remember when I told you I had no friends?”

Seven lifts up his glasses until they push back his hair and he rubs his weary eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, curt and annoyed.

“What about you? You’re… you’ve got a job and o-other coworkers.” Yeah, other co-workers that he’s fucked. Yoosung knows this. “But, Seven, friends?”

Silence. Yoosung readjusts himself on the cold cement and takes another angle to the question.

“Who’s your friend, Seven?”

You.

  
“Doesn’t matter.” His glasses fall back onto the bridge of his nose.

“Saeran is here, he can be there for you, too. A-and I c-can if you want...”

“He can’t. He’s unstable. He… you don’t know him like I do.”

As much as Seven wants to bond with Saeran, he can’t tell him about the struggles he lived during their time apart, especially not when Saeran lived in a hellish cult. Whatever woes Seven experienced pale in comparison. He can never be that selfish to his brother.

“I think you’re underestimating him…” Yoosung counters feebly. It makes Seven angry. Who was Yoosung to tell Seven about his own brother? Where was Yoosung’s prior confidence? Can’t he maintain his front when overstepping his place? Infuriating.

“I’m not underestimating anyone! Can’t you see him? He… he can’t do anything without me! We need each other!” The last words choke out with tears and Seven scrubs his eyes, pointing his back towards Yoosung. He feels like he’s pouting, like he’s being the child he never got to be growing up.

He hates this feeling.

“I’m not… Seven, I’m not saying that.” Yoosung’s hand rests tentatively on Seven’s shoulder. It makes him want to saw his own limbs off to escape the gentle touch. “You know that, right? I just think Saeran’s doing really good, and… I guess we’re worried about you.”

“We?”

“Yeah.”

“You and Saeran?”

“Yeah…”

There’s no reason to be emotional. Even so, the feeling persists. The pause is long enough to be uncomfortable. Thankfully, Yoosung lifts his hand as Seven finalizes his decision. This farce is over.

“Since when was there a ‘you and Saeran’?” Seven snaps.

“Uh, since we-”

“You’re talking to my brother?” Seven hates how possessive he sounds. How long has Saeran been talking to Yoosung? How long have they been friends? How long has Saeran been better at making friends than him?

And why is he jealous of that?

“Umm, S-seven, a w-while? But don’t worry, it’s not... you already know-”

“Stop talking to Saeran.”

“Wh-what?”

“I keep telling you I can’t do this, Yoosung.”

“B-but, t-t-together we can… and, and after la… last night, y-you… you said-”

_In that hospital room, Seven slammed his hand against the wall as he watched the back of his mentor and once friend disappear, hollow words ringing in the air._

_“No matter what happens…”_

“I lied.”

_“Don’t stop being Luciel.”_

“You… hah, what? You lied?” Yoosung’s voice borders on disbelief, wavering as his eyes widen with a plea. “We’re… then we aren’t…?”

“No.”

“Hah… Seven… this isn’t funny. S-stop joking.”

“I’m not.”

“So, you didn’t f-feel anything last night?”

“No.”

It’s an ugly transition, from a beautifully open and innocent face to a twisted, contorted painful expression with something scarily akin to hate twinkling in his eyes. He purses his lips to stop them from wobbling, sucks in a breath to say something, but then those first tears fall from his eyes and words skitter away the same way he takes off from the cement stone steps.

Wearing that perfectly fitted shirt Seven bought him, Yoosung disappears and, hopefully, it’s the last time Seven ever has to see that hair colour. To hide the way his lip wobbles, Seven pulls down the edges of his hood, until most of his face is covered.

“I’m…” The words sting but maybe if he says it, he can transport back to last night. “I’m in love with you.”

No one hears him but the night sky, infinite and cold.

There’s only so long he can wallow in his own mistakes. After an indeterminate amount of time, Seven stands up, dusts himself off as if it’s that simple to brush off pain and re-enters the house. Saeran’s waiting by the door, hands pursed and eyes wide open and nervous. Whatever swagger he had earlier faded away. Seven almost sighs in relief. Thank goodness, he’s back to the Saeran he remembered.

“Did you do that on purpose?” as soon as the words leave his mouth, Seven realizes how accusatory they came out. He covers his face with his hands and swallows his anger. It sits hard in his stomach. “I… forget it, I didn’t mean that.”

Seven looks around quickly. Hyun and MC are nowhere to be found, but the movie plays on in the background. From here, he can see the light of the television from the living room.

Saeran gestures towards the entranceway, door now shut and locked. Seven should probably leave, but after that catastrophic encounter outside, he isn’t even sure he’d make it to the parking lot behind the building without collapsing. He fucked everything up through instinct. He drags his hand down his face, a helpless groan escaping his lips. His glasses are all smudged now.

When he looks back at Saeran, he realizes he’s been watched the entire time by large, unnaturally green doe eyes. Saeran’s holding his phone close to his chest, safeguarding a secret, but he turns it around when their gaze locks and that indescribable twin understanding passes between them; a link that apparently was not severed during their time apart.

The display screen shows the photo Saeran stealth shot of Yoosung and Seven sharing their first kiss in Seven’s car. It’s a sharp blade that squelches into a fresh wound. Seven makes a sound that’s inhuman and utterly heartbreaking.

“Why did you take that?” Seven whines. “I fucked everything up.”

Saeran cuts off the phones display and pockets it. He wraps his fingers around Seven’s wrist, middle finger and thumb touching as he drags his brother to his bedroom. It’s as if his actions were meant to say “this is no place for a discussion.” Then Saeran shuts the door slowly, turning the knob so it doesn’t click as it closes. It makes Seven think that he’s probably used to sneaking around from their home and then from Mint Eye.

“Saeran,” Seven half sobs out his name. There’s a world’s weight of responsibility on his shoulders; the agency work, Yoosung’s feelings and expectations of him, Rika’s court case, V and his latest disappearance, Saeran’s recovery, trying not to let Vanderwood find out how unstable he is, trying to deal with his emotions. He’s world-weary. He wants to retire somewhere where the internet doesn’t exist. He wants to run away to a deserted island with his brother.

And here’s Saeran, standing there staring at him while Seven fights back tears with everything in his being. He likely feels just the same way Seven felt last night: helpless, useless, powerless. Saeran fists the sleeves of his too-long sweatshirt and stares at the door.

This redistribution of power makes Seven feel vulnerable, so he turns to leave. Saeran doesn’t need to see him cry like this. Seven just needs to make it to his car and then he can cry and work through these emotions in a place where they can’t bother anybody else.

Before Seven can even move, he feels Saeran’s chilled fingers through his clothes, touching him on his upper arm. That one touch speaks volumes. It’s an enigmatic dichotomy that Seven can manage to feel lonely with his brother so close. Seven reaches out, too, mimicking the motion as he sloppily trails his hand up Saeran’s arm and to his shoulder. Even through the thick shirt, he can feel the raised bumps from when Saeran self-mutilated last night.

It provides perspective to this moment of vulnerability. Saeran pushed him off the bed last night but he didn’t kick him out of his bedroom. He let his brother stay even through the worst of the panic attack. If Seven runs away now, he’ll shatter whatever they have in this moment. Saeran’s trying to comfort him.

God. Saeran’s trying to comfort him. Seven almost loses his composure at the mere thought.

“Can we…” There’s little chance to second-guess his words. He’s already fucked up one thing tonight. So, if he fucks this up, too… Well, he’ll just go disappear, kill himself, whatever. He’ll stop being a fucking nuisance to everyone, but he won’t let Saeran’s efforts go to waste without giving it a real shot. “Can we talk?”

Saeran turns away, a noise dying in his throat that sounds suspiciously like a no. Seven’s heart crashes for a moment; his brain struggling to find the next steps as he focuses on the solution. Game over. Time to go. Time to… dispose of himself in the least scarring way possible, so whoever finds him isn’t haunted by his body.

It’s horribly fatalistic, but these thoughts have been growing at the corner of his mind for years now, mangled and ominous and waiting for a slip up quite like this one. It’s the apex of stress in his life and he can’t figure out how to process it emotionally without wanting to die.

“Yeah, okay.” Saeran’s voice is deeper than Seven’s. It’s more serious with little inflection. It doesn’t sound anything like the little brother he knew growing up. It makes Seven wonder if Saeran cares how much Seven’s voice has changed over the years; deeper and more disingenuous, always accompanied by an inflection that makes others wonder if he’s ever spoken a true sentence in his life.

“Okay,” Seven responds awkwardly, nervous because he wanted Saeran to open up to him, but he never truly imagined the opposite transaction. He never imagined telling Saeran about more than his apologies and love. He definitely never imagined telling him how he royally screwed everything up with Yoosung.

“You start,” Saeran says expectantly, digging around in his drawers for something now that he’s sure Seven isn’t going to sprint out of the room. He fishes a bag of Honey Butter Chips out of his drawers, tossing it in the air then at Seven as he speaks.

“I took Yoosung to Mint Eye,” the words burst out of him much like the chips burst out of the chip bag as he fumbles to catch it, hugging it to his chest and popping the air out.

“Oh,” Saeran responds, looking at the chips littering the floor. They both drop to their knees and start picking up the salvageable pieces, putting them back in the bag to consume because they’re both gross, apparently. It’s a grounding feeling, knowing Saeran eats food off the floor as much as he does. It’s a stretch to think that it’s because they’re siblings, but Seven chooses to believe it anyway.

“I was investigating - Mint Eye, I mean - and… I saw what it was like there. Saeran, I… I can’t stop thinking about you growing up there. And then you cried last night and you pushed me and I just thought that this was all my fault…” Seven idly touches the spot on his chest that Saeran shoved, like the skin had been branded from the experience.  “It’s my fault, for, for trusting V and Rika, and for leaving you there. I thought of you alone and crying, and I… I want you to know that I thought about you every day I was gone. I gave them money I made so you could go to college. I cried all the time, but it was worth it, because I thought you would be happy... And... God, Saeran, please don’t look at me like that. I love you so much. I can’t deal with it all sometimes.”

“That’s…” Saeran’s voice sounds teary even though his eyes are dry. They’re incomprehensibly deep, though; layers of anger and fear and sadness overlapped into one complicated emotion. “That’s not what I meant.”

That’s not what he meant when Saeran said yes to talking; that’s not what Seven originally meant when he asked Saeran to talk, but...

“I know. Fuck, I know, I’m sorry, I just never had a chance to properly tell you.” And now he’s vulnerable enough that it all flows out of him heedlessly and desperately as he struggles to breathe between words. “I love you. You’re the only family I have. If it wasn’t for you...I,” Seven considers his words, and despite the fear he feels, he wants to tell the absolute truth for once. “I would’ve killed myself.”

“Me, too.” Saeran’s response is immediate and thoughtless, like it’s second nature to want to die. Seven scrubs his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. For some reason, he thought he was admitting something that no one else experienced. Maybe because he’d never told anybody.

“What?”

“Yeah… different reasons, I guess, but like… I hated you and I w-wanted to see you again.” Saeran sits down on the floor, crumbs of chips still scattered around. He appears happy with their clean up job for now, though. Seven follows suit and sits on his butt, cradling the bag of chips in his lap. He isn’t hungry. He has no idea why Saeran even threw this at him, except...

“You… you hated me?”

How could Saeran hate him if he remembers his favourite chip brand?

“I was taught to.”

Neither of them had to fill in the blanks about who exactly taught him to hate. She’s a different person now. V stayed in his life these past ten years and he never encouraged hate. It’s hard to believe Rika encouraging that with her old personality. Did she put him in that basement? Was that was that space with the bloody handcuffs were used for? Seven shudders. Impulsively, he sets the bag of chips aside and pushes himself onto his hands and knees. He crawls towards Saeran.

“D-do you still ha… haaa…” Seven begins, voice cracking and failing him when he needs it most. He can’t just say the word.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, I… this is stupid. I need to go.” It’s just Seven’s base programming. This is as hard for Seven as it likely is for Saeran. He can’t keep working against the tide if Saeran hates him. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t deal with that. He-

Saeran tugs at his sleeve, guiding Seven the rest of the way until they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“Don’t go. You have to tell me about Yoosung still.”

Seven plops down beside his brother, and leans his head on Saeran’s shoulder, inhaling the scent they share. Saeran smells different now, like peppermint. Seven wonders if it’s from that pungent elixir he smelled in the Mint Eye church.

“What do you want to know?” Seven whispers.

“What you did.”

“You don’t want to know that.”

Comfortable silence settles over the room, and Seven closes his weary eyes. They sting. It’s a different sting than when he stares at a computer screen for fourteen hours.

“Can I ask something first?” Seven asks.

“Yeah.”

“How often did you… how much did she make you take?”

“I don’t think I’ve been sober in a long time.”

“How long?”

“Years. Your turn.”

Seven squeezes his eyes shut. He considers changing the story to make himself look less awful. He promised himself at the beginning of this conversation that he’d tell the truth. So, he continues on.

“I fucked him over. I strung him along. I made him think I like him until he cried more than once and then I kept kissing him ‘cuz I’m selfish and wanted him to like me and then just now he asked me out and I told him no, but in the worst way.”

Feels more real now that he’s said it.

“He’s not coming back?” Saeran questions.

“I… don’t know.”

Saeran turns and looks at the pile of books sitting on his dresser. There’s a bookmark sticking out of one of the titles, about a quarter of the way through. Seven drinks in the sight of Saeran’s bright red roots before they make eye contact again.

“Saeyoung.” That name is a weapon. “I am his friend.” Saeran says it with confidence and finality that makes Saeyoung jealous. So Yoosung was telling the truth.

“Do you… what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to say sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, to him.”

“Saeran… please, I can’t…”

“Why?”

“I want to just go away. I want to disappear. I want…”

“To abandon me?” Saeran interjects.

“No! God, no! Never. I just want to stop existing. I want to fix everything. I don’t want you to hate me, I want to tell Yoosung I…”

“I don’t hate you.”

“But earlier you said-”

“Because I still don’t know. But I don’t hate you right now.”

It isn’t final. It’s abrupt and honest. A lie would have been prettier. Even so, Saeyoung decides he can live with that truth. It’s a compromise and a challenge. He’ll just need to be the best big brother he possibly can be to make up for time lost.

“This is step one to not hating me all the time, right?”

Saeran nods. Relief cools his anxieties and he feels comfortably purged of negative emotions. Yet that does nothing to remedy the way he spoke to Yoosung earlier. That wound is too fresh to feel healed. Saeyoung whines, finally delving into that bag of chips he set aside earlier.

“Do you think Yoosung will keep talking to me?” he says through mouthfuls of chips. He’s predisposed to hate eating.

Saeran shrugs. It’s not possible Saeran would know, but Saeyoung could’ve used the reassurance.

“Do you think I should try?”

A simple nod. Saeran must be talked out.

“Would you try?”

A snort, an uncharacteristically handsome smile from Saeran, and then another nod.

“Yeah, he’s cute,” Saeran says casually.

“Any other reasons?”

“He brings me library books.”

“Oh, so this is about you?” Saeyoung jokes, feeling weightless as he looks at his brother’s smile. He sniffles, wiping excess tears with his already soaked sleeves and collar.

“It was always about me,” Saeran responds smugly. Saeyoung outright laughs, voice catching on tears as he can’t decide which he feels more strongly in this moment. Saeran cares enough about him to watch him cry. He cares enough to talk even though he doesn’t want to. He cares so deeply despite all the awful truths Saeyoung uncovered on that hard drive.

It shouldn’t matter what he saw on there, because the person awkwardly maneuvering his arms so they can hug; this person in front of him right now, the Saeran existing in this moment, is who Saeyoung missed the most.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might take a little longer. I was on a writing blitz but now I've gotta write more! :D


	22. Chapter 22

Days since he’s seen Yoosung: 10

Seven drags his palms over the armrests in the soft leather chair. Oh, fancy. He hums to himself, a veritable form of purring.

How long until the man of the hour arrives? Seven adjusts his tie all the way to the neck, smoothes his slicked back hair, and adjusts his glasses. He reaches over the polished wooden desk, fingers trailing the pristine surface before ever so gently wrapping his fingers around the narrow stem of a crystal wine glass.

There’s nothing in it, of course. Seven doesn’t drink; can’t even stand the smell of alcohol. There’s fun in pretending, though; just another level of theatrics onto this whole rouse he’s playing. He considers how it’s so like Mr. Han to have a wine glass on hand, on his desk next to his gem encrusted pens, just for his pleasure. It isn’t that difficult to picture business deals happening in this room, over shared bottles of wine from the mini fridge underneath. How many handshakes and signatures happened over this desk?

Seven twirls his wrist, pretending to slosh wine in his glass, airing it out like a decanter. He spins in the swivel chair, eyes drinking in the view of Seoul. He’s seen it all before, of course, but never in luxury. The last time he was around this height was when he sweat drenched, in a suit that clung to his skin in the same way he clung to the side of the building he was shimmying down. Seven crosses his legs, knee over ankle, and grins with a wry shake of his head.

The city is definitely breathtaking. Plenty of enormous reflective glass buildings, impressive architecture, but the real kicker was the people. The people who hire him walk among these numbers, with terrible thoughts in their heads and pocketfuls of extra cash. They were allowed to contract him and continue on their lives, as if a transaction between agents and civilians didn’t put anyone’s life in danger. If only there were enough to obscure him completely… then Seven could melt into the crowd and just be one of them.

There’s beauty in anonymity like that. It’s become a goal of his. That’s why he’s here. That’s why he has to do this.

A humorless laugh, a self deprecating thought, a piece of humanity he wishes would’ve died with Saeyoung. He clenches his fist on his knee to stop himself from shaking. This is all for the mission, after all. Agent 707’s final mission.

“I believe we need to take this offline. My assistant can…” There’s a pause. The deep voice belonging to Jumin Han dips slightly, a muted response to surprise before he continues on in the same tenor. “... contact you regarding document delivery and memorandum of understanding. We’ll need to issue new SOPs before we explore other options. Now, then.” The phone beeps as the call ends.

Seven leans his forearms on the desk, holding up a series of papers he brought with him. He pretends to scan them, fingers touching his own cheek lightly.

“Hello. I assume you have a response for me.” Jumin readjusts his cufflinks as he speaks, completely unruffled by Seven’s sudden appearance in his private office. “You could have contacted my assistant.”

“This is flashier,” Seven says with a shrug. He honestly has no idea what Jumin means by that, but he plays along. He points to the three-story cat tower pressed up against one of the office’s floor to ceiling windows. “Cat lover?”

“One could surmise.”

Seven sets the wine glass down with a dignified clink, and a curl at the end of his lips.

“Crazy cat lady?”

“No.”

“I'll be the judge of that. How many cats?”

“One cat.”

“What’s her name?”

“Elizabeth III.”

“Regal,” Seven points out, eyes gliding back over to Jumin. “Very like you. Who named her?”

“You came to converse?” Jumin asks, standing at the doorway where he entered. With his office chair taken up by Seven, there are few places for him to sit. Not literally, of course. This entire office has more than enough seats for a group of people, but it’s about power with these big deal types, and right now, Seven’s harbouring it with his butt in the main seat.

It’s clear Jumin plays these games well, because he doesn’t move to sit, and he doesn’t look for appropriate seating. He just stares at Seven as he maneuvers his cell phone until it sits face up in his palm. For emergencies only, the display reads.

“So, you haven’t seen him?” Jumin ventures. A hacker here to ruin things. Is that all Jumin saw him as? Is he even trustworthy? Thoughts race through Seven’s head as he processes new information; inputs assumptions based on probability, and feels a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he’s free falling off the side of this building. He presses forward.

“Who?”

“Jihyun.”

“Nope!" He says in a perfectly carefree manner, lying through his teeth. "But I have something even better, a contract."

Jumin awaits patiently for Seven to deliver the letters to his upturned palm. Instead, Seven slides it to the other end of this ridiculously large desk. With a sigh, Jumin approaches it and grabs the contract.

“That isn’t an answer,” Jumin responds sternly, papers rustling in his hand as he looks up from them.

“That’s how you operate, isn't it?”

“Arguably, that is how businesses operate. I operate as a business does.” And then in Jumin's his low, commanding baritone. “But in this circumstance, bartering should suffice.”

***

Days since he’s seen Yoosung: 14

Official LOLOL Forums

EvaporatingHash

Hey has anyone seen HackerGod

 

PoxB00ze

Huh

 

Brand:Noiseless

She hasn’t logged on for a few days, weird

 

PoxB00ze

Wait wait wait no way there’s that new event everyone knows she loves arena events

 

Brand:Noiseless

She was playing w Superman a while back

 

EvaporatingHash

What?! Arent they rivals

 

Brand:Noiseless

Idk someone got some screenshots, kinda looked like she was just pissing him off

 

EvaporatingHash

Well she doesnt talk to other players really

 

Gacruxbid

Shes kind of an idol

 

Hooveranal

Shes my idol, beautiful and talented JUST TAKE ME

 

EvaporatingHash

…

 

EvaporatingHash

Umm, off topic but what level was she doing with superman

 

Brand:Noiseless

Abandoned dungeons on the shootingstar server, the really high level ones

 

EvaporatingHash

The one where the screen literally turns red?

 

Brand:Noiseless

Ya

 

EvaporatingHash

Makes sense for high level characters, but she’s got like no dps

 

Brand:Noiseless

Did u see those screenshots, she dgaf shes not even wearing armor

 

EvaporatingHash

I wish i knew what they were saying,,,,,,,,,,

 

Hooveranal

Heres my guess: Oh superman, take me~

 

EvaporatingHash

…

 

Brand:Noiseless

Well ur not wrong

 

EvaporatingHash

UH RU SERIOUS

 

EvaporatingHash

Ooooh i love this enemies to friends to lovers

 

Hooveranal

Evap is harsh but deep down they know i, hooveranal, is always right

 

Brand:Noiseless

U mean evap is HASH

 

EvaporatingHash

Omg

 

EvaporatingHash

Anyway HG always snipes superman right? So it’s like a love hate thing perf 4 enemies2lovers

 

Brand:Noiseless

The minute superman gets close to her in levels, she surges like 20 levels

 

Brand:Noiseless

He prob hates it…

 

EvaporatingHash

Ya but thats why hes into her more cuz she puts him in his place

 

Hooveranal

I bet superman likes getting stepped on or he wouldnt get so mad

 

Hooveranal

Haha check this out, ppl ship them

 

EvaporatingHash

WHERE i have a sudden great need

 

HackerGod

Hai guys ~ what u talking about -0h O_O

 

EvaporatingHash

OMG OMG ZOMG BOMG OASJDHADOJISODJ is that … HI HI HI HACKERGOD <3

 

Hooveranal

Senpai notice me

 

EvaporatingHash

Shes KOREAN

 

Hooveranal

Right uh… *groogles*

 

Hooveranal

NOONA NOTICE ME

 

HackerGod

Omg ru guys talking about me n superman ~

 

Hooveranal

Ya…………….

 

HackerGod

People ship us , oh my my, im blushing all over >///<

 

Hooveranal

Whaaaaaaaaaaat

 

HackerGod

Pls share content

 

Hooveranal

NANI

 

EvaporatingHash

KOREAN

 

Hooveranal

Oh.. MWO? 뭐 뭐 뭐

 

Brand:Noiseless

Uh did u just Groogle what in korean

 

HackerGod

Im not kidding! Pls pls share content of superman-oppa and me ~ i love him

 

EvaporatingHash

ARE U SERIOUS WHAT DID U GUYS TALK ABOUT

 

Brand:Noiseless

Smooth…

 

HackerGod

Oh, we voice chatted! His voice was so soft, felt like he could take care of me. I swooned more than once but DONT TELL HIM ILL DIE of embarrassment <3 hehehehehe ~

 

_Multiple people are typing..._

 

There. That should be enough coaxing. Yoosung said himself he thought their avatars would look good together. It feels too indirect, but… he’s such a coward. He needs time to muster up the courage. He needs time to figure everything out.

The room to his bedroom door swings open abruptly. Vanderwood’s striding in, carrying a box with a greasy bag of something savoury balanced on top. They set the box down on his bed and swipe the bag of food like they don’t intend on sharing it.

As payment for the last job, Seven asked Vanderwood to gather a specific set of mechanical and computer parts. The haul was small, but he couldn’t risk going out in public himself. He would’ve had more than enough extra parts here if he bothered to look. As it stands, sifting through boxes upon boxes of wiring for certain plugs was too tedious, too time consuming.

Vanderwood obliged, bringing along with them a bag of fried chicken they reluctantly share with Seven.

Silence with Vanderwood feels strained, like an elastic pulled to it’s limit. They can’t ask each other any personal details and they aren’t attracted enough to each other to fill that space with sex, so they just sit side by side on a freshly clean bed (courtesy of Vanderwood, of course) and eat greasy chicken.

Food complete, Seven begins unpacking the box as Vandy cleans up. They’ve been hanging around the apartment more often than not lately, and Seven can’t say he’s hating the company, awkward as it is.

After several hours of tinkering, Seven stretches in his chair, sets the screwdriver down on his desk, and mozies to the kitchen. It appears that Vanderwood has taken up residence in his living room.

“Do you plan on heading home?” Seven asks casually, unused to house guests.

Vanderwood scowls as they thumb through their phone, legs crossed and poised, like they can’t relax.

“Got things to take care of.”

“Here, specifically?”

“We’re leaving soon, anyway, so why does it matter?”

“Soon?” Seven repeats incredulously.

“Soon, a few months, whatever. Point is, we’ll be gone, and my place is…” A grave look crosses Vanderwood’s features. “I don’t love this either, kid, but it’s all we got. You’re part of this, too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” they agree, and a laugh erupts from their throat. “We’re practically fucked. And you’re crazy, so I’m taking my chances, I guess.”  

Seven tries to ignore that as he slides to the kitchen for some chocolate milk.

***

Days since he’s seen Yoosung: 20

The time passes quickly as he works. It reminds him of when he first accepted being an agent, compliant to slide into the code on his computer like it was oxygen to breath.

Seven plugs a USB into the robot he created, and attaches it to its computer. It’s a blank slate right now, barely an OS, so he opens up a new window and sets to work. This little kitty has an important job.

***

Days since he’s seen Yoosung: 30

Saeran’s texting him all the time; every event, every photograph he’s taken, every moment Seven’s missing out on, and… Yoosung.

Saeran keeps texting him stealth photographs of Yoosung; smiling, picking flowers, reading books, doing homework, at the library, on the bus, at the park. There’s this one Seven loves where Yoosung’s standing there, fingers in a peace sign with that smile on his face. He’s wearing a t-shirt and casual jacket. He isn’t wearing the dress shirt Seven bought him. Makes sense. It isn’t the weather for an outfit like that, anyway. Even so...

Seven’s heart tugs uncomfortably every time he looks at it, so he deletes every photo as soon as he receives them.

He doesn’t deserve them anyway.

***

Days since he’s seen Yoosung: 34

“Yo, you’ve stopped working. Something happened?”

Vanderwood pokes their head in. Oh, right. Seven forgot they’re living together now. He hasn’t left his bedroom in a few days. He’s unshowered, musky, and greasy. His bed doesn’t smell clean anymore. He misses it like he misses the safe feeling of nostalgia, longing for a home life he never really had that somehow included clean sheets.

Seven snuggles further into the blankets, his phone sitting beside him with a photo of Yoosung pulled up. He asked Saeran to resend the park one and promptly made it his phone background. Doesn’t matter anyway. He should care more about Yoosung’s well being, that’s why he broke things off anyway, but… but…

“Hey.”

He has spent an embarrassingly long time looking at art of their LOLOL avatars shipped together, watching MeTube commentary videos of their one in game adventure, and reading fanfics. He’s commented on a few. They’re… really nice; really idealistic.

They also completely missed their real personalities, but that isn’t the point, because it’s a universe where they actually become a couple. Seven could watch them fall in love over and over again. At least it wouldn’t be like this pitiful excuse for a love story.

He hasn’t even visited his brother since that night. He doesn’t want...

“Kid, what the fuck?”

...Vanderwood to see him go out. It’s terribly isolating. It’s also killing him being in close proximity to someone and not fucking them to feel something. Even though the thought of touching anyone but Yoosung makes him want to retch.

Guess Vanderwood has seen it all now. They’ve seen Seven’s depression at his worst. Oh well.

“Vandy,” Seven finally responds, voice crackly from days of silence. “Vandy, what do you want more than anything in the world?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“I dunno.”

The bed dips as Vanderwood sits down. Oh, they’ve pulled their hair back into a ponytail today. It looks nice on them. Very becoming.

“Have you always been like this?” Vanderwood asks softly.

“Guess so.”

It’s terribly honest. For people like them.

“I want to survive this.”

***

Days since he’s seen Yoosung: 40

“Saeran?” Seven rubs at his fatigued eyes. This is an illusion; this is a joke; this is one of the hallucinations that happen when he hasn’t slept for several days. He tugs at his hair, surprisingly clean as he sees momentary flashbacks to Vanderwood shoving him into the bathtub with his pajamas on, shower head running and muttering something about how they won’t let him kill both of them with his bullshit emotions.

Seven slowly reaches his hand out, touches warm solid flesh, and panics.

“Saeran, how did you find this place?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Saeran responds, shoving the pillow he was holding into Seven’s arms and then burying his face in it, like a second-hand hug. “Sober for five months,” he says softly. “They let me leave for a few days.”

Seven swallows, arms encircling his brother. It’s been so long since he’s hugged someone, he forgot how good it feels.

“Saeran, I…”

“It’s fine,” Saeran says just as softly, trying to reassure his brother. There’s really no excuse for such a long absence. “You had some shit to deal with, right?”

Any response Seven would have had is interrupted.

“What the hell?” Vanderwood stomps up. “Who the fuck is this?” Then they look bewildered between the twins. “Is this some joke? Is this why you always act different every time I see you?”

“What?” Seven scoffs, a smirk crossing his face as days of sadness and solitude melt away. He keeps an arm slung around Saeran’s shoulder, bumping their heads together. “You just figured it out now, Vandy?”

It takes Saeran a moment before he processes it, but it clicks. He reaches over and snatches his brother’s striped glasses, resting them over his eyes. His lips curl in a devilish smirk; eyes ablaze with mischief.

“Got a problem with that, Vandy?” Saeran repeats the familiar nickname, but doesn’t quite have the disingenuous tone that Seven has mastered. Vanderwood squints their eyes as they look back and forth between the two, then crosses their arms.

“The plan didn’t account for twins,” they say blankly, sentence so final.

“Plan?” Saeran questions, facade broken. The glasses fall down his face as he looks above them towards his brother with big questioning eyes.

“To get out.” Vanderwood answers smugly. “Did brother dearest not tell you?”

“Congratulations, you figured it out,” Seven declares, stealing his glasses back and adjusting them on his face. He shepherds Saeran into the apartment and closes the door. Forget what you heard, please. Please. Please.

“Figured what out?” Saeran says.

Ah.

“You didn’t tell him, did ya?” Vanderwood says.

They both spoke at the exact moment, and Seven wasn’t sure who to address first. He holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’ll explain everything.”

And he does. Seven first tells Saeran everything that happened since he abandoned him ten years ago; about becoming an agent, skimming over unsavoury details including their foster parents, about the jobs he had to do, and about their current plan, the clear issues with the higher ups Vanderwood reports to, and how it all seemed to happen right after V disappeared from that empty hospital room.

“What’s going to happen?” Saeran whispers, holding the pillow close on his lap. They’ve migrated to the living room, both of them sitting against the wall while Vanderwood perches on the couch, watching them. Seven almost feels exposed, but at this point Vandy has seen so much.

Saeran’s had a frown on his face since Seven began talking. It’s different than his usual scowl, which masks how he’s feeling. He’s broadcasting his emotions openly now, eyebrows knitted together, mouth curled down and eyes solemn, like he’s searching for a way out as much as Seven is, and realizes… there’s nothing.

“We’re…” Seven looks over at Vanderwood momentarily. “We’re gonna go away for a little while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be a while until the next chapter. I've got it outlined but it's gonna take a lot of finessing. 
> 
> I am still not 100% happy with this chapter but I've rewritten it many times already. ;; I hope everyone enjoyed it


	23. Chapter 23

“Where are you going?”

“Umm...” Seven thinks back to when he booked his flights. He let a bot select the bookings for him, created a machine generated maze with no embedded logic. In fact, he’s sure several of the flights just take him back and forth through one country. Unnecessary precautions, but Vanderwood seemed happy with it. “Six flights, gonna go to Canada.”

“We’ll meet up in 6 months if we’re still alive and go from there,” Vanderwood interjects brusquely from the sofa, a carton of cigarettes balanced on their knee.

“Six months?!” Saeran exclaims. That pillow Saeran brought with him could be described as shabby on the best of days, but today Saeran seems determined to hug the stuffing out of it. 

“Do you… do you have to…” Saeran whispers, eyes averted. It reminds Saeyoung of when they were little and he would sneak off to church. Saeran would beg him not to go, just because he couldn’t stand their time apart. Just the thought that Saeran might feel that way now makes Seven’s heart throb uncomfortably. He pushes hair away from Saeran’s face.

“Yeah,” Seven whispers gravelly. Between them, an unspoken apology hovers.

“Why?”

“Saeran, I’ve… I’m-” 

“No.” Saeran cuts him off, eyes serious and burning a hole into the apartment floor. “I know.”

“What?”

“I know,” Saeran murmurs, darting up to look at Vanderwood’s face and the unlit cigarette held between their gloved fingers. “She let me follow you, so I knew what you were doing.”

“H-how did you…”

“You left that book at home before you left,” Saeran shrugs. “It had your notes… I took it.”

When Rika and V had offered him an alternative, she had supplied him with a textbook. It was heavy for a child, but he carted it home like treasure. With the pens he would find scattered around the house, he’d write meaningful notes in the corners of the sheets, notes related to his work, and…

He remembers scribbling useless ones in it, too; about his feelings and his hopes. There was no sender in mind; they were just the unfiltered thoughts of a child. 

Seven can think of a few reasons why Saeran would’ve wanted to take that. 

“Ah, so you knew, huh?” a mirthful smirk on his face.

“Yeah.”

“Did you hate me for it?”

“Yeah.” 

Seven tilts his head back until it bumps on the wall behind him. 

“You saw M…” Saeran sucks in a deep breath. “M-Mint Eye stuff, right?”

Like, what Saeran did at Mint Eye? What role he had? What duties he was tasked to accomplish? Yeah, Seven knew. He knew because of that corrupted hard drive that he recovered. 

“I… yeah, I did.” 

That night Saeran held him while he cried, Seven went home and destroyed the hard drive with the heel of his shoe. Some people would call that emotional and irrational. Seven decided that he could afford to be that once in a while.

“Then we’re even,” Saeran breathes, accepting and calm. 

“I’m a scumbag.” 

“Recovering scumbag,” Saeran corrects. It was so abrupt and uncharacteristic that a chuckle escapes Seven’s mouth, surprised by both his laughter and his brother’s poor attempt at humour. It worked, though.

“I’m working on it,” Seven assures him, corners of his lips quirked into a tilted smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seven notices Vanderwood shift in their rigid position on the couch, legs crossed. They lift the cigarette to their lips and hold it there, watching the bare beige wall as the boys talk. It felt like their way of giving the twins privacy.

Despite being simplistically easy to read, Vanderwood remains elusive. For everything Seven knows about them, there is a plethora of unspoken secrets he doesn’t. The thought that Seven is trusting Vanderwood to work with him on this escape plan is sobering. How much do they know about each other, really? After he peels away all the mandatory work relationship bullshit, whatever they have is as tenuous and minuscule as an elastic band pulled to its limit. 

Once the silence settles over the room, Vanderwood stands and opens the window a crack, wood squeaking. They flick the lighter on with a  small whoosh and the tip of the cigarette glows fierce red. They take a deep drag and push the curtains back as they breathe smoke through their nose like a calm dragon. 

“Hey kid… kids now, I guess.”

Seven answers as Saeran goes mute once more. “What’s up?”

“We gotta eat.”

Sharing a meal can open up completely new perspectives on a person. Seven’s been eating with Vanderwood a lot lately, so he’s had time to notice things; like how they almost never remove their gloves, even when they’re eating something greasy like the fried chicken from a few nights ago. Seven notices how they use a mountain of napkins every time they eat, and how they insist on using chopsticks for soup noodles, even though a fork is way easier. He notices how they tie their hair back into a perfect, neat bun that borders on feminine. He notices the way they never get facial hair, even though they aren’t Korean like the twins are. 

What Seven really notices, though, is how those hardened brown eyes have softened since they discovered Seven has a brother. 

“Vandy,” Seven interjects, shoving a piece of food in his mouth to chew on so he can reconsider his words before they haphazardly slip out of his mouth. Vanderwood perks up from the box of takeout on their lap, bean sprouts peeking out between their lips; how weirdly… human. Seven feels his own smile before he’s aware of it. “Vandy, do you have family?” With such a soft, reminiscent gaze in their eyes, Seven guesses that Vanderwood had to have had something worthwhile before turning to this.

To their credit, Vanderwood doesn’t choke on their mouthful. They continue chewing, perhaps even slower than usual, and they watch Seven with the eyes of a predator caught in a dangerous situation. Seven stays relaxed, though. There’s nothing to fear here right now, especially not with Saeran’s shoulder brushing against his.

“That’s not how this works, Age-” Vanderwood cuts themselves off because they really aren’t agents anymore, are they? Not since they’ve decided to defect. “Maybe someone else did once.”

“What happened to this someone else?”

“Their identity’s been erased.”

“Where’s someone else?” 

“Who knows,” Vanderwood says with a sigh of acceptance that suggests this is a topic they’ve thought about before. Conversation seemingly over, Seven turns back to the food in his lap until Vanderwood looks up again and says: “Maybe they’ll need some of your help after all this is over.”

“Huh, oh - yeah, yeah, definitely.”

They’re smiling at each other, a couple of nervous ex-agents in a hideaway apartment with a newly forged promise - then, a loud phone chime breaks the moment. Saeran sets his box of food on the floor and pats around for his phone. When he pulls it out of his pocket, he scowls at the screen.

“Fuck,” Saeran growls under his breath. Seven immediately looks over his shoulder without permission but Saeran tips the phone towards him anyway. It’s a text message from Yoosung, but it’s just a link, a link to an article whose headline reads: ‘Cult leader who destroyed the lives of over 50 people sentenced to death under the honourable judge…’

Before Seven can even react, Saeran’s phone screen lights up with a call from Yoosung.

Saeran looks at Seven apologetically, helplessly, before he swipes right to answer the phone call.

It was the right call. Yoosung shouldn’t be alone… Seven can agree with that. It doesn’t stop the pang in his heart that aches when he hears Yoosung’s small, soft voice through the microphone on Saeran’s phone; and it certainly doesn’t stop the way tears burn the back of his eyes when he hears his solitary sob, garbled and staticy. 

Seven pushes himself to his feet and relocates to the bedroom at top speed, flicking the lights on and slapping the space bar on his keyboard until his computer awakens from sleep with an irritated whirr of the fans like a beast awakened from slumber.

He fiddles with the kitty robot perched on top of the computer tower and starts the mind-numbing task of re-checking her specs. 

Sorry Yoosung.

Saeran enters the bedroom an hour later with a sigh. Seven pushes his striped glasses further up his face as if that would make him slink further into his disguise. Neither of them talk for a long time.

To his surprise, Saeran breaks the silence.

“Let’s go to the park.”

Seven didn’t even know there was a park nearby. He thinks that he did at one point, when he scoped out this area, but it’s been two years since he relocated here. That’s plenty of time to get comfortable and forget the danger he’s actually in. 

Vanderwood tags along, claims that they want to go to the convenience store to buy a few more days worth of food. Seven wonders if it’s just the fear of being somewhere alone. Strength in numbers and all that. 

It’s chilly outside. The months have turned over from early spring to summer and even though the sun is shining, the wind is surprisingly biting. Seven regrets leaving his sweater at home. 

When Saeran had asked him to go to the park, he immediately set the kitten robot beside his keyboard and got to his feet. Let’s get out of here, his body had ordered him. These four walls are poisoning. 

Seven’s feeling grateful for the small things, like when Vanderwood threw him into the shower. It soaked his pajama pants, but it forced him to wash his hair. At least now it isn’t plastered to his scalp with chunks of dirt and buildup; it makes him feel a little more human, a little more alive and in the moment.

It’s just past dinnertime. That sweet spot before dusk blankets over the world and the streetlights flicker on like small pops of sunlight. The wind ruffles his hair and a butterfly floats in front of Saeran, and even though Vanderwood is walking two steps behind them like they’re being stalked, everything still feels pleasantly normal.

Seven can’t stop himself from thinking he shouldn’t be allowed to feel this way. His hand snakes up to the silver cross around his neck; a silent thank you to God for this moment.

There’s blonde hair in the distance… Seven’s heart jumps, irrationally, like it’s trying to leap towards the prospect - no, the idea - of Yoosung. Seven presses his fist gripped around the cross into his chest, holding his organs from metaphorically bursting out of his chest. There’s plenty of people with blonde hair in Korea, though. Sure, it isn’t a natural hair colour for Koreans, but there are lots of foreigners, exchange students - hair dye! - it isn’t like only one person in all of Seoul has blonde hair. 

It isn’t until he spots a small wave, hand barely held up past the stranger’s torso, weakly and sadly, does he realize that this person is waving at them - at their group. Seven looks over his shoulder at Vanderwood, who just shrugs, and then turns to Saeran, who’s already scooted ahead, meeting up with …

Yoosung.

The exchange goes awkwardly. Saeran murmuring an apology about how he was over at his brother’s when he received the call and technically wasn’t allowed out on his own yet - a statement in which Seven knows his brother is lying through his teeth.

_ You did this on purpose _ , Seven mouths at him, and Saeran just tilts his head, lips parted like he’s confused before he turns his attention elsewhere. Little piece of...

When did he get so convincingly good at this? Yoosung catches that exchange, darting his eyes around Seven’s body (shoulders, feet, forehead) before telling Saeran it was no big deal anyway. It’s fine. We’re fine. 

Just fine. 

Saeran and Yoosung walk ahead of the group, Vanderwood and Seven in step behind them as Seven shoves his hands into his pants pockets. He grumbles. These pockets aren’t as spacious as his oversized sweater; they aren’t as spacious, and they aren’t nearly as comfortable. He stares at Yoosung’s profile, almost oblivious to the scenery. 

And Yoosung - he talks about Rika, he stumbles around apologies that he knows Rika did awful, awful things, but he can’t stop thinking about who she was, how she probably didn’t deserve this, and that…. 

“It won’t happen, Saeran, right? Saeran, tell me it won’t happen.”

It’s clear Saeran doesn’t have any idea how to respond, but he’s keeping his composure well. He purses his lips minimally and remains almost passive most of the time. He chooses his words carefully, probably not wanting to scar Yoosung with any truth that could be perceived as too real, too irredeemable. 

“She was like my mother. Imagine how I feel,” Saeran says finally, words mumbled under his breath. Seven watches Yoosung’s body language crumple, like paper fisted in someone’s palm and Yoosung sniffles. He looks back at Seven once, causing Seven to breathe in sharply and straighten his back. The moment ends and Yoosung directs his undivided attention to Saeran, a friendly hand on his forearm as if to signify -

“I’m here for you,” Yoosung whispers, just as Seven’s thoughts echo the same phrase. 

Seven frowns, eyes hardened, and slows his pace, letting the distance between him and Saeran and Yoosung grow until it’s too far to hear their conversation. 

“You like that guy,” Vanderwood says, pulling the last cigarette from the carton in their pocket. Seven scowls as they go to light it.

“Can you not?” Seven snaps, and hunches his shoulders again. “Do you just take cigarettes out when you want to go all fucking sage-like on me?” 

“Huh?” the cigarette droops between Vanderwood’s lips before it straightens with their scowl. “Fuck no, kid, I’m chain-smoking because I’m fucking scared, as you should be.” They light the cigarette, inhale, and hold their breath. “Instead, you’re out here playing this, this fucking charade of a life.” They exhale as they speak, gesturing with the burning end. “You know they’re both in danger now? You could make them both targets?”

“Saeran can take care of himself.”

“Yeah, but not the little blonde twink.”

“What?!”

“Look at that kid, he keeps staring at you like you murdered a puppy in front of him.”

Seven flinches.

“You should be making people afraid of you, but instead -”

“So that’s where your award-winning personality comes from?” Seven interjects, the jaunt equal parts edged and comedic, jagged glass dipped in honey.

“Shaddup, just, just listen.” Vanderwood pauses like they expect Seven to talk over them before they continue, “You should be making people afraid of you, but instead that kid is in love with you.”

Seven swallows, stomach lurched into his throat like one of those springs in a side-scroller video game. Every time he swallows, it bobs in his throat but doesn’t move.

“I thought... I thought you said he looks like I murdered a puppy in front of him.”

“Yeah,” Vanderwood says with such surety as if to say ‘duh.’  “He’s the puppy.”

The walk continues for twenty more minutes before Saeran spots an ice cream stand in the distance. He drags all four of them towards it and demands three scoops. Vanderwood points one gloved finger in the distance, towards the street, and tells all three not to go far before they saunter off, leather jacket slung around their shoulders. 

That leaves Seven with both Saeran and Yoosung. Saeran’s mouth is decidedly busy licking all three scoops at once, and Yoosung hovers between them staring at his one lonely scoop. If it was warmer out, it would’ve been melting by now, but it’s almost night time and frigid.

“It’s getting late,” Yoosung says softly, eyes focused on his ice cream. Seven shuffles and mutters an agreement in response; “I guess.”

“Do you need to head back soon?”

“Uh,” Seven fishes around in his pocket for his cell phone. He turns on the display, checks the time and shrugs. “No, I don’t know, gotta wait for…” he looks over in the direction Vanderwood took off in. “Them,” he supplies lamely in lieu of a name. He turns to Yoosung, whose eyes have wandered from the ice cream to Seven’s cellphone, and…

The gears that click into place in his brain should be audible. The photograph that Saeran took, the one of Yoosung standing in the sun and smiling, the one Seven had gotten so used to seeing that he stopped questioning. He had made that exact photo his background.

“Oh.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanderwood is very quickly becoming one of my favourite characters to write;;
> 
> Sorry delay was so long. I anticipate there are only a few chapters left. Big thanks to everyone for sticking with me!


	24. Chapter 24

Days since he’s seen Yoosung: 0.5

Seven crouches between the dresser and the closet in Saeran’s bedroom. He pulls out a cordless drill, twists in a circular bit and tests it a few times, pressing his finger on the trigger like a gun. The drill whirrs angrily, stops, and then whirrs again. 

“Are you sure MC isn’t home?”

From his perch on the bed, Saeran pockets his house keys shyly and nods. 

“She’s gone ’cause I said I was staying with you… Can I get kicked out for this?” He murmurs softly. Seven assumes it’s a rhetorical question and aligns the drill tip with the small ‘x’ he marked on the wall in pencil. Once the drill turns on, Saeran raises his voice to speak. 

“Why did you make it a cat?” Saeran asks, stomach flat on the mattress as he holds himself up on his arms, watching Seven work with fascination.

“Uh,” Seven sets the drill down and feeds a cable through the hole. “I thought it was cute and I saw a cat like it recently.”

“Where?” 

“Hm.”

Saeran flips over onto his back and watches upside down, head hanging off the bed. He lifts his hands up like cats paws.

“I like cats,” he says simply.

Seven stands, dusts off the drywall powder from his pants, and returns the drill to its bag.

“We can get one, when I come back. Whaddya think?” 

“When… yeah, okay.”

Conversation halted, Seven lifts one finger to Saeran and leaves the room. He enters the living room, connected to Saeran’s bedroom by only this slice of wall, and pulls the cable through. He hooks the cable into the modem and strategically aligns the router’s table so it covers the hole. Seven’s betting their chances of discovery on MC having little enough tech savvy she doesn’t notice the extra cable plugged in.

When he returns, Saeran’s on his feet, examining the little kitty robot on the dresser. Seven’s even designed it with a blue ribbon; completely unnecessary, but cute nonetheless.

“Are you gonna explain everything to me?”

Seven’s going to have to explain himself anyway. He was just hoping to avoid it, hoping Saeran would stop asking after their sleepover.

“It’s better that you don’t know. You... We look alike. What if, what if… what if someone pulls you or something, thinking you’re me?”

“Um, excuse me.”

Seven plops himself down on the bed and immediately lays down, legs dangling off the end. 

“I know, I know,” he says with a flourish of his hand. “You can take care of yourself, even Vandy figured that out somehow-”

“I don’t look like you.”

“Huh?” Seven sits up abruptly. “Doofus, we’re twins.”

“I dye my hair.” Saeran plays with the pink tips of his shaggy hair.

“Not for a while.”

“Yoosung offered to help me dye it again.”

“Okay, when did you get so sassy?” Seven says with a tired smile on his face. 

“Maybe I was always like this.” 

“Maybe.”

“So… you gonna tell me?”

“Yeah.” Seven pats the comforter beside him. “Listen up, little bro.”

“Hey...” Saeran sounds offended, but sits down beside his brother anyways.

The house is quiet save for the hum of the lights above them. The dark curtains are drawn tight and the entire room smells like Saeran, smells like a clean home. Seven sucks in a deep breath.

“I saw Jihyun at the hospital after you were discharged. I wanted to punch him more than I wanted to talk to him, and now I think, maybe... I don’t know. Are you sure you want to know all this?”

“Yes,” Saeran responds without a beat. Seven almost laughs.

“Okay, then… I am probably reading into this way too much, but it seemed like he wanted to tell me something? Something more important than… to not stop being an agent… but I wanted him to get out. I wanted him to stop looking at me with those...” 

Cloudy. Glassed over. Omniscient. 

“...Blind eyes. It felt like he gained powers, and-and could look at my soul instead of my body, and he knew, y’know? He knew. He knew everything, and… anyway, he disappeared. He had a cellphone with him and it rang. I called it and it rang…! A-and then it stopped working immediately after. Even now,” Seven holds up his cellphone and experimentally dials the number. After two rings, it cuts off into static. No voice mail, no out of service announcement - just dead air, crackling. The type of answer you’d expect if you were literally phoning the dead. “See? This doesn’t connect to anything. I tried to track it. It told me New Zealand… then Ireland… then Croatia.”

“So, what does that mean?”

Seven ends the phone call, letting it hang in dead air feels like something malevolent is listening in. He shivers unconsciously.

”It means… I think he did something, Saeran. To the agency. Like… okay, so a week after I saw him, Vanderwood asked me to make him an untraceable phone. He told me he’d pay me and it was an underground job. An underground job - even more underground than my, I don’t know, my actual underground job? What would he have to hide from the agency?

“Information changed a lot. Like, there was an explosion at one of their data centres, an influential client tricked them into exposing themselves, there was a betrayal among the higher ups…all this, like, wrong information... it’s happening right now and everything’s all fucked up. I’ve been getting jobs, but the encryption is wrong; nothing's secure. I stopped taking payments, because one bad bank transfer and I’ll lose all my money, but I keep doing the work so they don’t suspect me, and… everything’s wrong right now.

“I am probably reading too much into it or whatever, but, like... he’s done something. V did something. And Vandy and I, we thought - okay, I thought, really - I may have had to bribe them with one of my babes but now, now’s the perfect time. 

So, Vanderwood is getting us passports. He’s giving me a new name. I’m sorry, I won’t be Luciel, and I can’t be Saeyoung, but I’ll… when I come back, you can start calling me that again. Forever. For real. I’ll come back.”

Seven ends his explanation with a twinge of desperation, seeking reassurance from his brother. Saeran takes all of the information in with no rebuttal, fingers rubbing the silk blue ribbon on the kitten robot. Instead, he casts his eyes downward as he whispers, “What about her?”

Immediately, Seven feels anger ignite at the thought. 

“I won’t help her.” 

The fact that Saeran even suggested it is… is...

“For Yoosung?” Saeran pleads. 

Seven stands and pulls a laptop out of his backpack. He sets it on the bed and beckons Saeran closer.

“I’m leaving you a laptop, can you take care of the kitty?”

“What’s it for?” 

Seven opens the refurbished laptop. He lets Saeran set a password that not even his brother knows and logs into the desktop. Seven demonstrates how to find the software he had made for the kitty. The robot doesn’t need much work, really; it just needs to stay plugged into ethernet. The software is only a precaution.

“She’s going to host something for us.”

***

Days since he’s seen Yoosung: well...

Apartment 407. Seven’s stared at the gold painted numbers long enough to have etched the entire door into his memory. The scratches on the number, the way the four is spaced oddly far away from the rest of the numbers. He can hear ambient noise from inside the apartment, and other apartments beside it. He can smell the intermingling scents of food; all too savoury and mixed together to be identifiable. 

It makes him wish he brought food, too. 

Seven steels his nerves with a gulp of air, a placebo for courage, and knocks on the door. It’s an eternity between breaths. His heart booms in his chest, blood pulsing all over his body. Fear unlike any he had experienced as an agent curdles inside his stomach, because now that he’s here, in front of the door, there’s no turning back. 

There’s a real chance Yoosung could ignore him completely. 

When the door finally opens, Seven is bent over, in the process of packing up the box at his feet. Yoosung must have been expecting someone else because he’s holding his wallet, headphones half off his head. 

“H-hey, I’m here, what was the total again?” Yoosung says, all in one breath, then looks up. The headphones slip off his wispy blonde hair and settle around his neck. Seven watches Yoosung’s entire face fall, as he shoves his wallet back into his pants pocket. He frowns, then gestures to the box Seven’s holding in front of him like a shield. 

“What’s that for?”

“Oh, hi, um… nice to see you, too?” Seven stumbles over his words, his traitorous heart stealing all his oxygen. “F-for you?” He props the box up with his knee and leans into the doorframe. Yoosung takes a step back but keeps the door mostly closed.

“I don’t want it.”

“W-wait.”

Yoosung waits, an annoyed air about him.

“I have something for you.”

“Okay?”

“You’ll use it.”

“So... what, you’re trying to butter me up or something?”

“N-no, I… It’s for you,” Seven says weakly.

“Seven,” Yoosung says with a sigh. “Go away.”

Just as the door starts closing, Seven blurts out: “Is this how you want it to end?”

It works. The door stops closing. He pushes forward.

“Is this how you want us to end?” 

As lame as the words sound, it feels true. Seven wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want a different ending.

“Oh my god,” Yoosung says, tiredly. “Can you sh-”

“Take my gift.”

“No.”

“It’s from HackerGod.” 

“So?”

“So, Superman can put it to better use anyway.” 

“Uh, what’s even in the box?”

“Monitors.”

“Monitors?”

“Yeah.”

“For…?”

“For my computer… well, from my computer. Your computer now.”

“Your computer?”

“Yeah, can you let me in? This is really, ugh, heavy, Yoosung.”

Reluctantly, Yoosung lets him in. Seven sets the box down on the floor of the hallway and turns around sheepishly. Yoosung’s left the door wide open, like he’s expecting Seven to leave immediately. It aches in the part of his heart that should be hollow.

“Sh-should I get the rest?” 

Yoosung nods curtly.

“It’s, uh, it’s in my car.”

Yoosung rolls his eyes, but nods again. Seven rigidly walks out into the hallway. His entire journey to his car consists of mumbled swear words and clenched fists. This feels pointless. This bond feels completely severed, cauterized, scabbed. In other words, inaccessible. Yoosung looks at him so coldly. 

There’s a nagging part of him that whispers he deserves it after all he’s done.

Yoosung’s in the hallway when Seven returns, holding the door to the apartment open. Seven sets the second box down. The door swings shut behind Yoosung as he peeks over his shoulder.

“Holy,” he says astonished. “This is your computer? How big is it?”

“Well, it’s a regular sized tower… uh, guess people only use the small or medium sized ones now, or, laptops, I guess, hah, but like, yeah… it’s a normal sized tower. It’s got a lot of power in it, and I removed all the…” Hacking equipment, compromised hard drives, bootleg software. “All the gunk. It’ll run real good.”

“Seven,” Yoosung says gravely, voice caught somewhere between excitement and apprehension. “What does this mean?” 

He’s right to distrust this sudden gift of goodwill.

“Are you trying to… is this because I gave you my… ah,” Yoosung looks like he’s fumbling with his phrasing, ashamed to bring up their sordid past. “You don’t have to make it up to me,” he mumbles.

“I’m not,” Seven says quickly, stepping forward as Yoosung shrinks back like he’s offended and hurt. Seven wants to reach out, but keeps his arms anchored at his sides. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Yoosung demands. “I know you, you moved on or whatever, and I, yeah, I’m attractive?” Yoosung sounds like he’s losing confidence in his words. “And people look like they wanna date me… I’ll be okay.”

“Yoosung, oh jeez, no, I... what?” 

“Y’know, that person… whoever was with you and Saeran last time and I… your phone had a pic o-of me? But I guess your… new boy - new person, is okay with that? And, no, Seven, it’s okay, I’m cool, it’s fine, we’re fine,” Yoosung insists, speaking louder when Seven tries to talk over him. “I think I was just pro-projecting some stuff onto you. I… heh, I don’t pay attention a lot in class, even though I should, but I was in my abnormal psych class and they said people, like, they project their feelings onto people? I wanted something when Rika… when we found her alive again, and you found someone, too. You found Saeran,” There are tears in his eyes now, shimmering in the dim light of the kitchen. It’s the kind of tears that show up defiantly, when you’re desperately trying to hold them in. He can see that same anger in Yoosung’s eyes, hear the build up in his voice as he talks. Seven stands there helplessly, feeling nothing but shame and selfishness because he doesn’t want to let go.

“You found Saeran and I found Rika and they both - they both weren’t who we wanted them to be! Rika is so different. I don’t even know her anymore, and now I know, I know I’m stupid and I don’t even know you!” Seven struggles to follow these haphazard sentences, letting Yoosung speak whatever pops into his mind. “You don’t, don’t like me… and if you did, it was... out of pity. Cause I’m not… manly, and g-girls don’t like me. And being g-gay is… all-”

An unexpected knock on the door jolts Yoosung. He flinches visibly. Seven points at the door, but Yoosung’s scrubbing the tears off his face, lightly smacking his soft cheeks as if to pull himself together, dammit. He’s sniffing loudly, clearly in no state to answer the door, so Seven takes the initiative, thanking the delivery driver for the box of miscellaneous food and shoving several bills into their now empty hands. 

“’Kay thanks bye,” Seven says cheerily, smile all teeth before he slams the door shut. 

Yoosung’s composed himself enough to snatch the box out of Seven’s hands and push his way into the kitchen. He flips open the box of food, revealing a pizza garlic bread combo. He digs into the garlic bread first, shoving an entire piece in his mouth and chewing on it petulantly. They make awkward eye contact as Yoosung eats before he turns his back to Seven and faces the wall.

Seven had expected to be screamed at. He isn’t sure how to deal with this.

He stands in the doorway between the kitchen and hallway, feeling tremendously out of place. Seven had spent so much time here with Yoosung before. There’s a buildup of dishes in the sink; boxes of crackers on the counter, bags of chips on the floor. There’s a half-filled glass of orange juice, fuzzy film all over the rim of the glass like it’s been sitting there for more than a few hours. It’s the opposite of how he remembered Yoosung’s kitchen; clean and comfortably lived in, with rubber gloves by the sink for washing dishes. 

Seven isn’t the only one struggling here. It was naïve of him to see the world with such tunnel vision. Yoosung’s on his second piece of garlic bread before he speaks again.

“Are you just trying to embarass me?” Yoosung murmurs.

“Never,” Seven responds immediately. Silence settles in as comfortably as that buttery, cheesy smell wafts through the kitchen. Seven gulps, stomach feeling unsettled. “For what it’s worth,” he says to Yoosung’s back, to the teal blue of his threadbare sweater. “I don’t think you were projecting.”

“Wow.” Yoosung responds flatly. “You know what?” 

“Yeah, babe?” Seven says without thinking, the pet name rolling off his tongue. It’s something he used to do to get close with people; pretend he was already familiar with them by using names like babe, sweetheart, honey… it leaves a bad taste in his mouth that he did it to Yoosung without thinking; that he may have done it more than once in the past. 

“Why are you doing this?” Yoosung says, voice small like he’s been injured. “Are you trying to do this? Do you know that you’re doing this?”

“N-no, I’m not… this isn’t on purpose. You’re just…” The moment to tell Yoosung the truth stares him in the face and he shrinks away from it, feeling apprehension burning his insides. All he hears is the echoing voice of his fears; there will be no more chances, so why make yourself vulnerable?

“This is a sign, isn’t it? This means something.” Yoosung speaks. “You didn’t just give me your computer because you pity me.”

“Yeah... I mean, no, I didn’t. It isn’t… none of - I mean, nothing is pity here.”

“So, you want me to have it?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t that important for… work?”

“It was.”

“Did you get a new computer?” 

Yoosung doesn’t turn around. He speaks as if he’s talking to the wall. His shoulders are hunched. He’s hugging his elbows. 

“I didn’t,” Seven says.

“What then…”

“I’ve got some stuff to do.”

At that, Yoosung lifts the hood of his sweater over his head, hands clasped over the top. He leans forward like he’s trying to curl up into himself. It reminds him of Saeran. It reminds him of the chasm-like distance Seven seems to create between himself and everyone around him.

“What about Saeran?” Yoosung asks.

“He can take care of himself. You even told me that. I just… had to open my big dumb eyes.”

“They aren’t dumb.”

“Just attached to a big dumb,” Seven says lightheartedly. His delivery fails, and the words fall flat.

“I guess.” 

Seven feels immobile. Trapped standing stock still as he feels their awkward attempts at conversation push them further apart, cement the chasm between them, make Seven think that maybe they should never talk again. Seven stares down at another hallowed moment for him to finally tell the truth, to come clean about the emotions he’s been harbouring like contraband since he fell in love with Yoosung.

“A computer won’t make it up to you, but I promise you I’ll be back and when I come back, maybe we can-”

“Where are you going?” The surprise causes Yoosung to turn around, cheeks now dry and eyes wide. “You never said you were going anywhere.”

“I already said I have some stuff to do.”

“That requires going away? From here… from Saeran?”

“I hate it,” Seven admits to the floor. “But yeah. I gotta go for a bit.”

“Do you need me to be there for Saeran?”

“I… yeah, I do.”

“No more ‘don’t talk to my brother’ stuff, right?” 

Yoosung could have said it smugly, with an air of celebration, like he’s won some victory. He doesn’t, though, because he never even knew he was playing a game to win. It was Seven who began the competition, set the goal posts, and added other players like he was last in the running to finally be a big brother to Saeran. 

So, no, of course Yoosung wouldn’t be an asshole about it, because Saeran sees Yoosung as a friend. And Saeran is finally starting to see Seven as a brother. He knows that now.

“No, I’m done with that,” Seven admits, the entire phrase an apology. 

Yoosung lifts up his hand, pinky finger out. His sweater sleeve hangs off his wrist limply, the material stretched and worn.

“I promise I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Yoosung says. He looks down at his finger, then up at Seven. The eye contact is expectant and heavy.

As Seven pads over the plastic tile of the kitchen, he thinks heavy thoughts about the last time he touched Yoosung. They link pinkies and Yoosung shakes, moving their hands up and down until he’s satisfied; the seal of a promise that fixes nothing between them.

But it makes sure Saeran isn’t alone. 

“I don’t know,” Seven leverages, a carefree lilt to his voice. “He’s pretty feisty, you sure you can handle him?”

Yoosung considers this a moment, then shrugs: “I’ve tamed the beast with library books.”

Seven laughs. The beast. Yoosung has no idea how apt a descriptor that is. That beast melts for kindness; an ice kingdom with the most obvious weakness. He and Saeran are alike in that aspect.

“Yeah, guess you have.”

They’re standing close now, almost face to face. Yoosung’s got this expectant look in his eyes. He moves his pinky, and his fingertips graze Seven’s palm.

“Do you love me?”

Seven winces.

“I don’t deserve to.”

“That isn’t an answer, Seven.”

“Does one even exist?”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

Once again Yoosung’s standing before him, vulnerable, handing Seven the weapon to tear his heart out. The last time Yoosung gave him such an opportunity, his default nature ensured he ruined an innocent boy’s heart. Seven’s been given that same chance again, both moments like two photograph negatives stacked together. Identical. 

Except this time, he’s determined to change the ending.

“What would you do if it’s a yes?”

“I’d…”

Seven may have had some power, but Yoosung’s been the one handing it to him this entire time. When Yoosung steps forward, hesitant and confident, to place one warm hand on Seven’s cheek, he jolts Seven’s heart awake. Makes him remember just how powerless he is, because...

“I love you,” Seven blurts. Hand covering Yoosung’s on his cheek, anchoring it there because dammit, it feels so fucking good to be touched, to say what he’s wanted to say without the fear of having to take it back. “I love you, and I’m sorry. You always talk like you’re the reason this fucking… imploded, but you aren’t. I’m the one who’s messed up...”

“Wait,” Yoosung says, spell broken as he watches with fascination as Seven’s vision blurs. “Aren’t you dating someone?”

“Uhhh,” Seven uses his free hand to cover his eyes, ashamed at himself. “Who?” 

Who is there besides Yoosung?

Yoosung takes his hand back and gestures around, lifting his hands above his hair to demonstrate height.

“This tall. Brown hair, kinda long, scary looking but, like, sexy, too? Leather jacket?”

“Oh my gosh!” Seven chokes, reaching for Yoosung’s hands and steals them back to his face, forcing both hands on his flushed cheeks. “Is that what you were talking about earlier?”

“Why? Is that weird? Why are you laughing?” But Yoosung doesn’t fight it. He holds Seven’s face as he scrunches up his nose with laughter, honks out scratchy hybrid chuckle sobs, and fails to catch his breath.

“Oh my gosh, Yoosung, I’m... dying. I’m dead, I’m on the floor now, resuscitate me.”

“What? Why is that so weird?”

Yoosung follows him to the floor, like he never wants to stop touching Seven. He runs his hands all over Seven’s face, wiping away wetness without mentioning it, scratching his scalp in that unbearably comforting way. He lets Seven gather his composure as he crumples that comfortable looking sweater in his first, pushes his glasses into his hair and rubs his face, cheeks, and snotty nose into his shoulder. It’s gross. Yoosung just accepts it with open arms. 

Yoosung accepts even the gross things about him. Seven understands a metaphor when he sees one, but the realization only makes him mumble through words. 

“Oh my gosh, well, you’re not wrong - except, yeah, you are. So fucking cute. I love you.”

“Ah, Seven,” Yoosung sounds flustered, but Seven can hear how pleased he sounds. “Who are they?”

“My coworker! The person who brings me work! Oh my gosh, you thought I was dating them? They’re so... weird!” Seven drags out the last word like a teenage girl talking about the loser boy in class. 

“I didn’t know!”

“You called them sexy,” Seven whines, nuzzling his face against Yoosung’s neck. He feels Yoosung stiffen, but doesn’t push him away. 

“Sh-shut up…” Yoosung murmurs as Seven laughs, chest heaving. 

“You’re so special, Yoosung. And I’m just a fuck up.” Seven breathes into his neck, lips greedily grazing his collar bone through the material. 

“Yoosung, can I - can you -”

“Can you what?”

Yoosung’s sounds prepared, expectant even, as Seven inhales deeply, readies the words. 

“Can I have some pizza?”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” Seven says devilishly, pulling back. His glasses are smudged, the insides dotted with tears from his eyelashes. His face feels red and he can’t really smell the pizza anymore, but now that these emotions are off his chest, he feels the need to devour.

“For a price,” Yoosung responds. “I did pay for it.”

“Excuse me, you did not!” Seven squeaks, voice the octave of an offended British woman. 

“Oh, right,” Yoosung responds dumbly, then grins. “Well, I was gonna pay for it, but you got in the way.”

“Yes, therefore, it’s my pizza. You owe me those slices of garlic bread.”

“Kinda hard to get them now.”

“Not if you try hard enough,” Seven says, grabbing Yoosung by the collar of that sweater and pulling his face down into a kiss.

They’ve shared lots of kisses before: passionate, shameful, lust-filled, clumsy, sloppy. But this one, this particular kiss, it can really only be described as: nice. It’s like coming home to your bed after sleeping in a hotel room for several weeks. It’s like burrowing in your pillows with a cup of hot chocolate from your favourite mug. Sure, it’s a little chipped; a little rough around the edges, but everything just tastes so perfect from that mug, and that mug alone.

“You’re my mug,” Seven whispers, untamed thoughts transformed into breath. 

“I’m your what?” Yoosung responds, head tilted to the side as he eyes Seven’s lips. 

“Nothing. I love you.”

“You keep saying that.”


	25. Chapter 25

The computer sat on the tiny desk his apartment came with, cramped with two monitors and a medium sized tower, but they made it fit. When Seven flicked the switch Yoosung was almost surprised it turned on, beeping to life before whirring angrily. Seven smacked the side of the tower while apologizing to Yoosung that he didn’t have time to change the fans.

He told Yoosung to test out LOLOL, and it ran so smoothly. It was habit that allowed one game to roll into two. It was willpower that stopped game three from loading, especially while Seven watched with expert commentary with his hand planted firmly on Yoosung’s thigh. Under those circumstances, Yoosung could do little more than purse his lips and attempt to concentrate.

Eventually, Seven got to his feet and offered Yoosung a drink from his own kitchen. He laughed without care when Yoosung reminded him this isn’t Seven’s house, and Yoosung should be the proper host and offer instead. Seven just ruffled Yoosung’s hair as he went to retrieve the drink for Yoosung anyway, planting a kiss on his lips as he shoved the cold glass of water into Yoosung’s hands.

Kisses came so easily now.

“Seven?”

It felt like a special occasion.

“I’m...” the man in front of him paused, hesitant. “You should call me by my real name.”

But Yoosung wasn’t so naive.

“In ca-”

“Don’t question it too much, cutie,” he whispered huskily, trying to keep the air light. “My name is Saeyoung. I’m in love with you.”

Peace settled in like a damp blanket, uncomfortable and sticky. The water tasted bitter, teardrops slipping into his cup and making it salty. They shared tear-marred kisses, but there was only so long anyone could cry before the headache hurts worse than the pain of saying goodbye. Saeyoung was still going to leave. No matter what Yoosung said.

That splash of reality made LOLOL feel like a waste of their night together.

They cuddled in Yoosung’s bed, his head in Saeyoung’s lap as Saeyoung touched his hair softly, whispering the nicest things to him; about how patient Yoosung is, how kind and resilient to have dealt with such awful treatment, how Saeyoung felt blessed that they met, prays to God for a good future for both of them. Saeran and Yoosung are his family. They deserve everything.

And don’t you worry, Yoosung, he’s going to take care of everything.

He presses his cheeks into the give of Saeyoung’s thigh, feeling the muscles that tensed and relaxed as Yoosung breathed. He tugs on Saeyoung’s sweater until he relents, offering an exchange: Yoosung’s sweater for Saeyoung’s. Yoosung happily trades away his mottled teal sweater for Saeyoung’s black and orange one.

There isn’t much to feel after that besides the warm, tingly feeling of someone’s fingers on his scalp; the kind that travels down his spine and soothes his muscles. There isn’t much to say after he’s fallen asleep; the man named Saeyoung moves Yoosung’s head to a pillow as he slips out of the bed and picks up Yoosung’s cellphone. There isn’t much to see after Saeyoung’s turned off the light, the phone screen illuminating the dark room so brightly. There isn’t much to notice after the darkness crowds out the light and Saeyoung stands there, face terse as he adjusts the cuffs of Yoosung’s sweater around his wrists. There isn’t much to hear as Saeyoung locks the door behind him.

The door is closed. The bedroom window is open. There’s a cool breeze rolling in that only helps its occupant slip deeper into sleep.

There isn’t much left anymore, but that was the intention anyway.

 

 

 

_Initiating…_

_Version 1.3.5_

_Time to installation... 39 years LOL_

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_100% !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Loading…. Loading…. Loading…._

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_Loading…. Loading…. Loading…._

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_First time login._

 

White text on a black background lights up the screen.

 

_Oho. Meowy recognizes this phone._

_Name set as: Yoosung_ **_★_ **

 

**_Ready! Aim! Fire! Welcome to the RFA messenger app, meow!_ **

**_((ΦωΦ))_ **

_A new chatroom has opened: Time to mingle!_

_______________________________________________________________

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

_Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom._

_Zen has entered the chatroom._

_Saeran has entered the chatroom._

_M.C. has entered the chatroom._

[Saeran]: oh

[Saeran]: i guess hes gone

[Meowy]: daddy!

[Saeran]: what

[Meowy]: daddy…!

[Saeran]: Uh

[Meowy]: I was set up to listen to you, my adoptive father

_Saeran has left the chatroom._

_Saeran has entered the chatroom._

[Saeran]: what the fuck

[Saeran]: let me log out

[Meowy]: Lemme start at the beginning

[Meowy]: I. AM. MEOWY.

[Meowy]: heheheh

[Meowy]: I live somewhere completely secret, meow!

[Meowy] :Or maybe i don’t live anywhere at all ohhohohoho

[Meowy]: But all u need to know, my beautiful sleeping non-kitties

[Meowy]: I’m the administrator

[Meowy]: Welcome to this completely secure, unhackable, untraceable chatroom

[Saeran]: Meowy

[Meowy]: Yessir, yes yes yessir

[Saeran]: When did he leave?

[Meowy]: I was set to boot up at 3:46am

[Saeran]: Its 5

[Meowy]: Boot up takes some time hehe ive never done this b4

[Meowy]: I hope u forgive meeeeeeeeeeee

[Saeran]: How long has he been gone for?

[Meowy]: ....

[Meowy]: You knew this was going to happen, Saeran.

[Saeran]: K

[Saeran]: Why did you log everyone in?

[Meowy]: First time set up rules! They’ll be kicked out once i close this chatroom

[Meowy]: It’s no big, really!

[Meowy]: Everyone needs to get acquainted

[Meowy]: stay tuned~

 

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: The business people_

_______________________________________________________________

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

_Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: Oh, this is unexpected

[Jumin Han]: And installed on my personal phone, as well

[Jumin Han]: How bold

[Jumin Han]: When did he have access to...

[Jaehee]: This has also been installed on my cell phone. So this is a chatroom?

[Jumin Han]: I suppose so

[Jaehee]: For what purpose

[Jumin Han]: To chat

[Jaehee]: Understandably, but chat about what?

[Jumin Han]: I was told to expect a communication.

[Jaehee]: These participants are…

[Jaehee]: Oh

_Jaehee Kang has left the chatroom_

_Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom_

[Jaehee]: There’s a profile function

_Jumin Han has left the chatroom._

[Jaehee]: I’m a little uncomfortable with this information shared

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: Assistant kang

[Jumin Han]: I did not know your favourite food was donut holes

[Jumin Han]: Specifically the kind decorated as cats

[Jumin Han]: How interesting

[Jaehee]: It is not

[Jaehee]: Not interesting

[Jaehee]: I appreciate the art

[Jumin Han]: You always seem so unenthused when you take care of Elizabeth III

_Yoosung★  has entered the chatroom_

[Jumin Han]: I will make sure to remember that

[Yoosung★]: hi…?

_Jumin Han has left the chatroom._

[Jaehee]: There is no need to remember that

[Jaehee]: are swear words prohibited…..

[Jaehee]: Anyway, it seems you can enter a status and profile picture

[Jaehee]: In this chat room you can see the profile picture, but not the status

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: Yoosung Kim, 21 years old, veterinary college student

[Jumin Han]: Luciel assured me this chat room would be filled with important people

[Jumin Han]: Hiring a student to take care of my darling Elizabeth III...

[Yoosung★]: umm

[Jumin Han]: Do you plan to specialize in felines?

[Yoosung★]: ummm;;

[Jumin Han]: Of course you do. I would expect no less.

[Jaehee]: Mr Han

[Jumin Han]: Yes, Assistant Kang

[Jaehee]: He’s a second year student

[Jumin Han]: oh

[Jumin Han]: Much too early to specialize then

[Jaehee]: Ok out with it then

[Yoosung★]: Whhat

[Jaehee]: Why are you here?

[Jumin Han]: This is an exclusive chat room

[Yoosung★]: Um, I’m... He’s…

_Yoosung★  has left the chatroom_

[Jumin Han]: Assistant Kang

[Jumin Han]: Marvel at this

[Jumin Han]: attached.png

[Jumin Han]: I can share photographs of my cat in cat-shaped bubbles

_Jaehee Kang has left the chatroom_

 

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: What’s in a name_

_______________________________________________________________

_Saeran has entered the chatroom._

[Saeran]: that cat

[Saeran]: looks familiar

[Saeran]: has it ever worn a blue bow?

_Zen has entered the chatroom._

[Zen]: hiya saeran

[Zen]: oh wow

[Zen]: this is an old name

[Saeran]: hey

[Zen]: any reason you aren’t opening your door today?

[Zen]: i came to visit after my run. MC made me leave.

[Saeran]: coffee first?

[Zen]: ya

[Zen]: how did u know

[Saeran]: the walls are thin

[Zen]: well...

[Zen]: will you let me in if I come visit again?

[Saeran]: aren’t u surprised

[Zen]: nope

[Saeran]: that theres this messenger app?

[Saeran]: u answered too fast

[Zen]: I didnt

[Zen]: MC told me your brother left

[Zen]: i dont talk to my brother anymore but

[Zen]: you cant lock yourself in there forever

[Zen]: i can help

[Zen]: saeran

_Saeran has left the chatroom._

[Zen]: god

[Zen]: saeran

[Zen]: ok does anyone know if you can change your name on this thing

[Meowy]: ohohohoh

[Meowy]: heheheh

[Meowy]: I am here!

[Zen]: um ur the leader right

[Meowy]: System administrator

[Zen]: Sure

[Zen]: Can u do me a solid and change my name

[Meowy]: Oopsie daisy no can do kiddo

[Meowy]: Names are programmed in by big boss

[Meowy]: Cant change ‘em

[Meowy]: Nope nope nope

[Zen]: can u do soemthing else for me

[Meowy]: I live 2 serve

[Zen]: whats going on here

[Zen]: like really

[Zen]: where’s saerans brother

[Meowy]: ERROR CLASSIFIED INFORMATION

[Meowy]: BREACH IN CLASSIFIED INFORMATION SAFE

[Meowy]: INITIATING EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE

[Zen]: Oh crap!! Oh nO

[Zen]: Did i brake it

[Meowy]: break*

_Zen has left the chatroom._

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Time to mingle!_

_______________________________________________________________

_M.C. has entered the chatroom._

[M.C.]: yoosung, zen

[M.C.]: saeran’s doing ok

[M.C.]: attached.png

[M.C.]: see, he made us dinner

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: just eggs?

[Jumin Han]: that is hardly a balanced meal

[M.C.]: oh hello

[Jumin Han]: hello

[Jumin Han]: Micha, I presume?

[M.C.]: yes that’s me

[M.C.]: the CEO?

 _Yoosung_ ★ _has entered the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: you know me

[M.C.]: I read your profile

[Jumin Han]: Ah well, here I’m not just a CEO

[Jumin Han]: I’m a friend, too

[M.C.]: How did you know Luciel?

[Jumin Han]: We have a contract

[M.C.]: Does that count as friends?

[Jumin Han]: I have memoranda of understandings with all my friends

[Jumin Han]: :]

[Jumin Han]: lmao

[M.C.]: lmao?

[Jumin Han]: does it not fit?

[Jumin Han]: are we sharing pictures of our food now?

[Jumin Han]: attached.png

[M.C.]: wow that’s a feast

[Yoosung★]: is that you

[Jumin Han]: pardon?

[Yoosung★]: in the picture

[Yoosung★]: is that u

[Jumin Han]: Surely

[Yoosung★]: i guess thats a yes

 _Yoosung_ ★ _has left the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: This is my second encounter with Yoosung.

[M.C.]: he’ll warm up to you

[M.C.]: now tell me more about this feast

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Pieces of him_

_______________________________________________________________

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

[Meowy]: Yoosung! ~

[Meowy]: Yoosungie ~

[Meowy]: Yooooooosungg <3 <3

[Yoosung★]: asdjpinadsa

[Meowy]: translate armenian to korean

[Meowy]: translation: beware of slippy

[Yoosung★]: oh sorry in class

[Yoosung★]: didnt mean to login

_Yoosung★ has left the chatroom._

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

[Yoosung★]: huh

[Meowy]: wait

[Yoosung★]: what

[Meowy]: can u reocmmend some fan fiction

[Yoosung★]: wow i didnt think robots made typos

[Meowy]: Meowy is an AI, mrawwwwr

[Yoosung★]: cats dont sound like that

[Meowy]: sure they do ^^

[Meowy]: i would know

[Meowy]: im a cat

[Meowy]: a kitty cat

[Yoosung★]: what do u want

[Meowy]:  fan fiction

[Meowy]: recommend me sum

[Yoosung★]: uh

[Yoosung★]: dont u wanna read other stuff

[Yoosung★]: like my textbooks

[Yoosung★]: and help me write my essays

[Meowy]: ahahhahahahaahahahahhah

[Meowy]: no

[Yoosung★]: why not

[Yoosung★]: you wont let me log out

[Yoosung★]: at least do my hmwk

[Meowy]: im not built for that

[Meowy]: i cant help u write essays

[Meowy]: do i even seen smart

[Yoosung★]: yes?

[Yoosung★]: i dont have anything to recommend

[Yoosung★]: can i go now

[Meowy]: oh

[Meowy]: guess i can share my faves w u since ur soul is deprived of happiness

[Meowy]: check ur texts

[Yoosung★]: we can text on here?

[Meowy]: Well ya silly, its an all in one

[Meowy]: U can call everyone else in this app too w/o phone numbers

[Meowy]: Its VoIP

[Yoosung★]: VIP?

[Meowy]: No, voice over IP

_Yoosung★ has left the chatroom._

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

[Yoosung★]: where did u find these fics

[Meowy]: i was programmed with them ^_^

[Yoosung★]: but why?

[Meowy]:  I read a lot of them before I left.

[Meowy]:  They made me happy

[Meowy]: along with..

[Meowy]:  attached.png

[Yoosung★]: where did ug et that ociture

[Yoosung★]: that’s

[Yoosung★]: 7

[Yoosung★]: phoen backgournsd

[Yoosung★]: saeran took thats

[Yoosung★]: Seven?

[Yoosung★]: seven is that u

[Meowy]: nope

[Yoosung★]: this isnt funny

[Meowy]: I’m not him

[Meowy]: I’m meowy

[Yoosung★]: i dont believe u

[Meowy]: but he gave me some stuff

[Yoosung★]: what stuff

[Meowy]: like

[Meowy]: its hard to explain

[Meowy]: pieces of his personality

[Meowy]: how he talks

[Meowy]: what he likes

[Yoosung★]: why did u talk like u were him

[Meowy]: idk

[Meowy]: it felt semantically correct

[Yoosung★]: but ur not him

[Meowy]: right

[Yoosung★]: dont pretend to be

_Yoosung★ has left the chatroom._

 

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Hidden fangirl_

_______________________________________________________________

_Zen has entered the chatroom._

_M.C. has entered the chatroom._

[Zen]: Oh wow fan fiction

[Zen]: that takes me back lol

[Zen]: anyone else remember that spanish soap opera that was on TV

[M.C.]: Oh! Yeah, didn’t it have a dumb name that made no sense

[Zen]: kinda ya

_Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom._

[Zen]: it was named after food

[M.C.]: a spicy one

[Zen]: a passionate one!

[Jaehee Kang]: Promiscuous Jalapeno Topping

[Zen]: yeah1 u know it?

[M.C.]: yep

[M.C.]: i only got to see some episodes cuz it was on at bad times

[M.C.]: it was really intense

[Zen]: it was on daytime TV

[Zen]: and i worked nights so id watch it before bed

[M.C.]: oh i didnt know you worked nights

[Zen]: used to sing at a bar in between shows

[M.C.]: classy

[Zen]: not really lol

[Zen]: sounds classier than it is

[Zen]: but ya then i got to star in the local production of it

[Zen]: just one of the side character arcs

[Zen]: but it was like a big deal to fans??

[Jaehee Kang]: Cooking for Jibeom

[Zen]: yeah!

[Zen]: wow u know ur stuff

[Zen]: my fan letters mentioned fanfics

[Zen]: so i got curious and...

[Zen]: lol

[Zen]: some of them are really steamy

[M.C.]: STEAMY

[M.C.]: what are u an old man

[Zen]: i left some anon comments letting them know how much i liked it

[Zen]: hey! >:(

[Zen]: i couldn’t say it was me but

[Jaehee Kang]: did you read this one

[M.C.]: LOL

[Zen]: which one

[Jaehee]: I’ve sent you a text

[M.C.]: me too

[Jaehee]: I did not send you one

[M.C.]: I know  but send me 1 too

[Jaehee]: Just a moment

[Zen]: o ya ii did

[Zen]: it was one of my faves

[Zen]: felt like they really got the character

[Zen]: i made an account just to talk to them

[Jaehee]: excuse me

_Jaehee Kang has left the chatroom._

[Zen]: did i do soemthing wrong

[M.C.]: prob the opposite

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: C-business_

_______________________________________________________________

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: a while ago we had someone from a candle manufacturer come present to us

[Jumin Han]: their scents were extravagant

[Jumin Han]: lightning storm

[Jumin Han]: turkey and stuffing

[Jumin Han]: whiskers on kittens

[Jumin Han]: reminded me of when I adopted my Elizabeth III

[Jumin Han]: I invested right away

_Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom._

[Jaehee Kang]: Mr Han

[Jumin Han]: yes

[Jaehee Kang]: May I ask that you pay attention?

[Jumin Han]: I do not wish to

[Jaehee Kang]: Why does your profile say “work sux”

[Jumin Han]: it is apt is it not?

[Jaehee Kang]: You’ve been asked to scout this client

[Jumin Han]: Yes, I’ve done the preliminary readings

[Jaehee Kang]: You’ve been asked to stop pursuing less than fruitful projects

[Jumin Han]: by whom?

[Jaehee Kang]: Your father

[Jumin Han]: excuse me

[Jaehee Kang]: ...

[Jaehee Kang]: why does your profile now say “work suxxxxxxxxxxxx”

[Jumin Han]: i felt it originally did not capture my emotions succinctly

[Jumin Han]: assistant kang… are you saying candles with cat themed scents is a project unable to bear fruit

[Jaehee Kang]: I have classified your fruitless projects under the category “Cat business”

[Jumin Han]: marvelous name

[Jaehee Kang]: C-business for short

[Jaehee Kang]: C-business has historically returned little to no profit

[Jaehee Kang]: I can attach a line graph

[Jumin Han]: No need

[Jaehee Kang]: for your viewing pleasure

[Jaehee Kang]: attached.png

[Jumin Han]: you are doing this on purpose aren’t you

[Jaehee Kang]: Of course not

[Jumin Han]: so tell me

[Jumin Han]: why does your profile say “GIRLISH SQUEAL”

[Jaehee Kang]: I am squealing

[Jumin Han]: you are not

[Jumin Han]: i am sitting across from you

[Jaehee Kang]: it was from a few hours ago

[Jumin Han]:  does it have anything to do with fan fiction?

[Jumin Han]: and that actor fellow?

[Jaehee Kang]: Oh look

[Jaehee Kang]: the client is done their presentation

_Jaehee Kang has left the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: Meowy

[Meowy]: yessir

[Jumin Han]: please share this fan fiction with me

[Jumin Han]: no not the first one

[Jumin Han]: share Assistant Kang’s with me

[Jumin Han]: I wish to read it

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Hyun’s special fan_

_______________________________________________________________

_Zen has entered the chatroom._

_Saeran has entered the chatroom._

[Zen]: all this talk about fan fiction makes me remember when i used to perform

[Zen]: its been a while since the last time i was on stage

[Zen]: no jobs rn

[Saeran]: do u wanna go back to movies?

[Zen]: idk

[Zen]: prob not

[Saeran]: you had lots of fans right

[Meowy]: NOT ONLY THAT

[Zen]: omg

[Saeran]: ru just always watching

[Meowy]: yes

[Meowy]: but that isnt important!

[Meowy]: someone hired me to make a tripter account for zen

[Zen]: really?

[Saeran]: ...

[Meowy]: ya one of my first jobs

[Meowy]: specifically hyun ryu

[Meowy]: he sucked at social media so he wasn’t getting much attention

[Saeran]: stop

[Zen]: I cant believe

[Zen]: wow

[Zen]: i cant believe someone would spend money on that

[Saeran]: meowy

[Meowy]:WUT

[Saeran]: shut up

[Meowy]: u got it chief

[Zen]: saeran, what the hell man

[Zen]: meowy was saying something awesome

[Saeran]: no it wasnt

[Zen]: i wanted to know more

[Zen]: saeran we talked about this u cant just tell ppl to shut up

[Saeran]: it was pretending to be my brother again

[Zen]: oh

[Zen]: Saeran…

[Zen]: can I ask Meowy a question?

[Meowy]: …

[Meowy]: only if saeran says yes

[Saeran]: depends

[Zen]:  who hired you to do that job

[Saeran]: why

[Zen]: i have a theory

[Saeran]: well?

[Meowy]: me or zen

[Saeran]: zen

[Zen]: i had a fan who came to every show i did on stage

[Zen]: and after one show

[Zen]: she brought me a bouquet backstage

[Zen]: i thought maybe she was hitting on me cuz of my good looks but

[Zen]: she was with her fiance

[Zen]: i noticed her a lot after that

[Zen]: but then eventually i stopped performing live

[Zen]: i was wondering if it was her

[Zen]: im thinking about performing again and

[Zen]: on stage, not movies

[Zen]: id like to see a familiar face in the audience

[Saeran]: …

[Saeran]: k

[Meowy]: is that the theory?

[Zen]: yes

[Saeran]: do u even know what theory means

[Zen]: doesnt matter!

[Zen]: can meowy answer or not

[Saeran]: Sure

[Meowy]: The person who hired me was named Rika

[Zen]: long blonde hair, green eyes?

[Saeran]: thats her

[Zen]: what?

[Zen]: how would u know

[Saeran]: wow

[Saeran]: so you knew her huh

_Saeran has left the chatroom._

[Zen]: huh?

[Zen]: saeran?

[Zen]: answer ur phone, c’mon

[Zen]: whast the big deal

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Late night drunk_

_______________________________________________________________

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

[Yoosung★]: saeran called me

[Yoosung★]: ive never seen him cry b4

[Yoosung★]: zen knows rka?

[Yoosung★]: this is bullshit

[Yoosung★]: wtf is this

[Yoosung★]: who else fucking knew her

[Yoosung★]: fuck

[Yoosung★]: Meowy

[Yoosung★]: did he pick that home on purpose

[Yoosung★]: saeran kept saying he wants to move

[Yoosung★]: god

[Yoosung★]: Did seven choose all of this on purpose

[Yoosung★]: was this part of some fucking plan

[Yoosung★]: is he coming back

[Yoosung★]: i know ur watching this

[Yoosung★]: answer !

[Yoosung★]: …

[Yoosung★]: answer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Yoosung★]: god dammit

[Yoosung★]: pls

[Yoosung★]: did he

[Yoosung★]: did you choose me on purpose

[Yoosung★]: was i part of a plan

[Yoosung★]: was it not real

[Yoosung★]: i cant stand this

[Yoosung★]: i miss you

[Yoosung★]: was it not real meowy

[Yoosung★]: pls

[Yoosung★]: please

[Yoosung★]: saeyoung

[Yoosung★]: i cant do this

[Yoosung★]: too much

[Yoosung★]: has anyone read the news

[Yoosung★]: her hearing failed

[Yoosung★]: shes gonna die

[Yoosung★]: rika

[Yoosung★]: theyre gonna kill her

[Yoosung★]: shes

[Yoosung★]: a monster

[Yoosung★]: can anyone help her

[Yoosung★]: do the others know her

[Yoosung★]: juman

[Yoosung★]: i saw him

[Yoosung★]: in a pic

[Yoosung★]: news

[Yoosung★]: hire alawyor

[Yoosung★]: law person

[Yoosung★]: they can hdeklps

[Yoosung★]: o tjey know ppl

[Yoosung★]: i h a\shew thsin

[Yoosung★]: i ha dht ens this

[Yoosung★]: I HATE THIS

_Yoosung★ has left the chatroom._

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Open your eyes it’s morning_

_______________________________________________________________

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

_M.C. has entered the chatroom._

[M.C.]: wow you’re awake

[Yoosung★]: morning class…

[M.C.]: good morning sunshine

[M.C.]: how’s that hangover?

[Yoosung★]: …

[Yoosung★]: saeran’s ok?

[M.C.]: he will be

[Jumin Han]: Yoosung

[Jumin Han]: good to see you so early in the morning

[M.C.]: so everyone here knows rika, huh

[Yoosung★]: ugh

[Yoosung★]: how do i delete conversations

[M.C.]: its fine, you arent wrong

[Yoosung★]: well

[Yoosung★]: i could’ve

[Yoosung★]: acted differently…

[Jumin Han]: Yoosung for your information, I am assisting with the trial.

[Yoosung★]: I saw you at the hospital

[Yoosung★]: u came to see her didnt u

[Jumin Han]: I did, yes

[Jumin Han]: I was looking for someone

[Yoosung★]: Not her?

[Jumin Han]: her fiance

[Yoosung★]: V

[Jumin Han]: Jihyun, yes

[Yoosung★]: Why were you looking for him?

[Jumin Han]: I’d become increasingly worried after some… erratic behaviour

[Yoosung★]: Did he do soemthing wrong

[Jumin Han]: No

[Jumin Han]: Not exactly

[Yoosung★]: what then

[Jumin Han]: Contact my assistant

[Jumin Han]: we can arrange a meal together where we can talk

[Yoosung★]: wait

[Yoosung★]: are you helping her

[Yoosung★]: do you care about her

[Jumin Han]: Simply put, yes

[Yoosung★]: ok

[M.C.]: yoosung

[M.C.]: there’s a lot of stuff online

[M.C.]: have you read any of it

[Yoosung★]: not since the beginning

[Yoosung★]: got sick of it

[M.C.]: ok thats fair

[M.C.]: but her sentence isn’t 100% yet

[Yoosung★]: what

[M.C.]: it has to go through another judge

[Yoosung★]: how do you know that

[M.C.]: capital punishment

[M.C.]: kind of a big decision isnt it?

[M.C.]: makes sense it’d go through more than one person

[Yoosung★]: i guess

[Yoosung★]: so she isn’t gonna die?

[M.C.]: well

[M.C.]: it isn’t 100% yet is what im saying

[Yoosung★]: thanks

[Yoosung★]: can i come visit saeran after class

[M.C.]: sure

[Yoosung★]: is he talking to hyun again

[M.C.]: not yet

[Yoosung★]: ok ill come over

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Time check_

_______________________________________________________________

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

_Saeran has entered the chatroom._

[Saeran]: Meowy

[Meowy]: here

[Saeran]: time check

[Meowy]: Meowy has been online for 4 months, 12 days and 5 hours

[Yoosung★]: you can do that?!

[Saeran]: ya i read it in the program files

[Yoosung★]: wow

[Saeran]: easiest measurement

[Meowy]: meow

[Meowy]: how did dinner go with Jumin, Yoosung?

[Meowy]: meowy can’t follow so idk what happened T_T

[Yoosung★]: um

[Yoosung★]: went good

[Saeran]: what did u talk about

[Yoosung★]: um

[Yoosung★]: nothing

[Saeran]:  u dont have to hide cuz its about her

[Saeran]: i fucking hate that

[Yoosung★]: sorry

[Meowy]: what happened, what happened!

[Yoosung★]: we’re gonna work together

[Yoosung★]: see what we can do

[Saeran]: about her sentence?

[Saeran]: u want to get her off…?

[Yoosung★]: at least to rehabilitation

[Saeran]: did Jumin suggest that

[Yoosung★]: ya

[Saeran]: k

[Yoosung★]: i know she was bad saeran

[Yoosung★]: i know but she can be good again

[Yoosung★]: i knew that rika

[Meowy]: we all deserve a second chance

[Meowy]: meow

_Saeran has left the chatroom._

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: After a trial_

_______________________________________________________________

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

_Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom._

_Saeran has entered the chatroom._

_Zen has entered the chatroom._

_M.C. has entered the chatroom._

[Yoosung★]: did that go well

[Yoosung★]: that went well right

[Yoosung★]: i couldn’t really tell

[Zen]: umm

[Jaehee Kang]: It didn’t go great

[Jumin Han]: Evidence is too conclusive

[Zen]: doe s that mean they’ll sentence her

[Jaehee Kang]: not exactly

[Jumin Han]: we should regroup

[M.C]: hideout tonight?

[Saeran]: no

[Saeran]: you cant just use the living room as your hideout

[Saeran]: i can hear everything

[Zen]: my place is too small

[Yoosung★]: we don’t want to be in public

[Jaehee Kang]: C&R has many office rooms not in use after hours

[Jumin Han]: I’d like to keep this separate from the company

[Jumin Han]: This is a personal matter

[Jumin Han]: Come to my house tonight

[Jumin Han]: We can discuss options

[Jaehee Kang]: The usual order?

[Jumin Han]: everyone?

[M.C]: wait can we get shawarma this time

[Zen]: as long as it isn’t carb heavy like last time

[Yoosung★]: i literally dont care

[Jaehee Kang]: You should eat this time

[Yoosung★]: I’ll bring leftovers to share with Saeran

[Saeran]: leave me out of it

[Yoosung★]: i know

[Yoosung★]: i wont bring it up

[Yoosung★]: I’l just come eat with you and then we can watch a movie

[Jumin Han]: what movie?

[Yoosung★]: uh idk whatever u want

[Saeran]: a romcom

[Yoosung★]: really?

[Jaehee Kang]: I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type

[Jaehee Kang]: I could bring one of my recommendations

[M.C]: does it have hyun in it

[Jaehee Kang]: of course

[Zen]: did like two romcoms when i debuted in movies

[Zen]: a lot of big actors did it so dont judge me

[Jaehee Kang]: eagerly awaiting your return to stage or screen

[Jumin Han]: a proposal

[Jaehee Kang]: C&R funding zen’s glorious return?

[Jumin Han]: Saeran, I’ll send you a car once we’re done

[Jaehee Kang]: I couldn’t agree more

[Jaehee Kang]: wait

[Jumin Han]: Come over for a movie

[Jaehee Kang]:  :(

[Jumin Han]: :)

[Jumin Han]: this contract says we’re friends

[Saeran]: is that what my brother made you sign

[Saeran]: a fucking friendship contract?

[M.C]: did this just become planning meeting/movie night?

[Jumin Han]: we’re all friends, aren’t we

[Jumin Han]: that shouldn’t matter

[M.C]: rad nice ok

[Zen]: Saeran I can skip the meeting if you need me.

[Zen]: I’m not good at this stuff anyway

[Jumin Han]: He’s right, he adds nothing

[Zen]: …

[Saeran]: no it’s fine

[Saeran]: see you tonight

[Saeran]: Im going to get cheezies at the convenience store

[M.C]: C U TN

[Jaehee Kang]: please stop using abbreviations

[Jumin Han]: until then

[Jaehee Kang]: tonight then

[Yoosung★]: bye guys

[Zen]: bye

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Time check x2_

_______________________________________________________________

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

[Yoosung★]: Meowy

[Meowy]: here

[Yoosung★]: how long have u eben activated

[Meowy]: are you requesting a time check?

[Yoosung★]:  ya

[Meowy]: Meowy has been online for 8 months, 12 days and 5 hours

_Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom._

[Jaehee Kang]: checking again?

[Yoosung★]: yeah

[Jaehee Kang]: he’ll come back

[Jaehee Kang]: he promised, did he not?

[Yoosung★]: I guess

[Yoosung★]: I’m worried

[Jaehee Kang]: it hasn’t been very long

[Jaehee Kang]: by his standards

[Jaehee Kang]: I’m practicing coffee art tonight

[Jaehee Kang]: do you want to come?

[Yoosung★]: dont u work

[Jaehee Kang]: usually

[Yoosung★]: wont jumin be mad

[Jaehee Kang]: doubtful

[Jaehee Kang]: hes with his father tonight

[Yoosung★]: yeah ok illcome

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Recurring nightmare_

_______________________________________________________________

_Zen has entered the chatroom._

[Zen]: its 4am so sorry in advance if u guys get a million notifications but

[Zen]: we need to send her to this facility

[Zen]: rika

[Zen]: to alaska

[Zen]: don’t ask why

[Zen]: i had a feeling

[Zen]: and a bad dream

[Zen]: every night for the past week

[Zen]: we have a list of alternatives for the lawyer right

[Zen]: send them this one as the first option

[Zen]: dont ask

[Zen]: look into it fine but like

[Zen]: i cant explain why

[Zen]: bad nightmares

[Zen]: goodnight

 

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Superstitions_

_______________________________________________________________

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

_Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom._

_Saeran has entered the chatroom._

_M.C. has entered the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: I don’t believe in superstitions

[Jumin Han]: but this facility looks good

[Jaehee Kang]: and it isn’t advertised publicly

[Jumin Han]: There is no way we would’ve found it normally

[Jaehee Kang]: We can add it to the report

[Jaehee Kang]: But ultimately it’s up to the court to decide what to do

[Jumin Han]: We can only tip the scale a little

[Saeran]: legally

[Jumin Han]: of course

[Saeran]: no bribes

[Jumin Han]: I’m offended you’d suggest that

[M.C.]: Saeran’s a bit touchy when it comes to her

[M.C.]: it’ll all be okay

[Jumin Han]: You have my word

[Saeran]: Okay

[Saeran]: i believe in hyun

[Saeran]: also get her out of the fucking country

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Time check x3_

_______________________________________________________________

_Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom._

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

[Jumin Han]: Meowy

[Jumin Han]: time check

[Meowy]: Meowy has been online for 11 months, 3 days and 23 hours

[Yoosung★]: why ru checking

[Jumin Han]: Are you insinuating only you and Saeran can check?

[Yoosung★]: no

[Yoosung★]: no … sorry

[Jumin Han]: It is alright. I have a contract to uphold.

[Yoosung★]: I thought it was about friendship?

[Jumin Han]: Not entirely

[Jumin Han]: Some of it lined up with original plans, such as helping Rika

[Jumin Han]: but some of it, I promised I’d help clean up

[Yoosung★]: but

[Jumin Han]: but?

[Yoosung★]: but why?

[Jumin Han]: Because it’s a contract.

[Yoosung★]: ya but why

[Jumin Han]: it’s legally binding

[Yoosung★]: im serious

[Jumin Han]: I gave my word and my signature

[Yoosung★]: but you don’t know us

[Yoosung★]: this shouldn’t matter to you

[Yoosung★]: did he pay you

[Jumin Han]: why do you want to distrust me so badly?

[Yoosung★]: I just

[Yoosung★]: I don’t know

[Jumin Han]: I know you care for him

[Yoosung★]: who

[Jumin Han]: Luciel, but he has many names, does he not?

[Yoosung★]: …

[Jumin Han]: we all have our reasons

[Jumin Han]: and now we are working together

[Jumin Han]: we’re friends

[Yoosung★]: yeah

[Jumin Han]: to which statement?

[Yoosung★]: all of em i guess

 

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Vinegar Verdict_

_______________________________________________________________

_Jumin Han has entered the chatroom._

_Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom._

_Zen has entered the chatroom._

_Saeran has entered the chatroom._

_M.C. has entered the chatroom._

[Jaehee Kang]: Yoosung

[Jumin Han]: Yoosung

[M.C.]: Yoosung

[Meowy]: Yoosung!

[Zen]: he’s not going to log on right now

[Zen]: but I can pass along a message

[Saeran]: wtf

[Saeran]: you were supposed to be out hours ago

[M.C.]: we got delayed

[Jaehee Kang]: it’s very common

[Saeran]: what the fuck happened

[M.C.]:  a verdict

[Saeran]: oh

[Meowy]: oh!

[Saeran]: get outtta here

[Meowy]: roger

[Zen]: Yoosung is kind of a mess

[Zen]: I’m going to take him to my place tonight

[Zen]: He can sleep on my couch

[Zen]: he shouldnt be alone and he’s too emotional to be around saeran

[Saeran]: shut up

[Saeran]: what does that mean

[Jaehee Kang]: just need some time

[M.C.]: ill come explain it tn

[M.C.]: driving home now

[Meowy]: dont text and drive, meow~

[Saeran]: what happened

[Saeran]: JUmin

[Jumin Han]: a guilty verdict

_Saeran has left the chatroom_

[Jumin Han]:Not ideal

[Jumin Han]: Let’s regroup later

 

 

_A new chatroom has opened: Time check x3_

_______________________________________________________________

_Zen has entered the chatroom._

[Zen]: Meowy, time check

[Meowy]: Meowy has been online for 1 year, 2 months, 1 day and 0 hours

[Meowy]: zenny where has everyone been T_T

[Meowy]: meowy has been opening chat rooms alone

[Zen]: we’re dealing with some stuff right now

[Meowy]: are you still talking?

[Meowy]: I need to know

[Meowy]: is everyone friends?

[Zen]: Meowy, do you care or does he?

[Meowy]: I was programmed to care

[Meowy]: I think it’s because he did

[Meowy]: He wanted Saeran to have a support group

[Zen]: why?

[Zen]: We could’ve all been friends together

[Zen]: When he got home

[Meowy]: Ah...

[Meowy]: Meowy has been on longer than the anticipated time limit

[Zen]: what does that mean

[Meowy]: Meowy had to override using cheat codes

[Meowy]: Meowy only had this code out of all the rest

[Zen]: what

[Meowy]: Meowy should have been off 2 months ago

[Zen]: that means

[Meowy]: I was supposed to be back by now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Next chapter is the finale ! It's been over a year since I began this and I literally cannot believe how it's progressed forward. Thanks to everyone for sticking with it 
> 
> Also it's hard as heck to tell a story only in chatrooms;;

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [Blackprose](https://blackprose.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and [@LikelyRogue](https://twitter.com/LikelyRogue) on Twitter. Hit me up to chat.


End file.
